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H7S^^*\ 



l^arbarli Collep iibrata 




FROM THE 

KENNETH MATHESON TAYLOR 
FUND '■ 

GIVEN IN 1899 BY 

JESSIE TAYLOR PHILIPS 

IN MEMORY OF HER BROTHER 

KENNETH MATHESON TAYLOR 
(Class of 1890) 

FOR ENGLISH LITERATURE 



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f ■■ ) 



..v,- 



\ 



GEO- 



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3 

GEORGE EL10T5 WORK5 
THE WARWICK EDITION 



VOL. X. 

DANIEL DERONDA 



DANIEL DERONDA 



BY 



GEORGE ELIOT 



Let thy chief terror be of thine own soul : 
There, 'mid the throng of hurrying desires 
That trample on the dead to seize their spoil, 
Lurks vengeance, footless, irresistible 
As exhalations laden with slow death, 
And o er the fairest troop of captured joys 
Breathes pallid pestilence. 



VOL. II. 



\VILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 

EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
MCMIII 



All Rights reserved 



simn s, a.*! 



■- '■ I 






CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. 



PAGE 

BOOK v.— MORDECAI, .... 1 

VI. -REVEL A.TIONS, .... 161 

VII.— THE MOTHER AND THE SON, . 325 

„ VIII.— FRUIT AND SEED, . .469 



/ 



BOOK V. 



MORDECAI 



VOL. II. 



A t 



DANIEL DfiRONBA. 



CHAPTEK XXXV. 

Were uneasiaeBs of conscience measured by extent of crim^t bnman his- 
tory had been different, and one should look to see the contrivers of greedy 
wars and the mighty marauders of the money-market in one troop of self- 
laoerating penitents with the meaner robber and cut-purse and the mur- 
derer that doth his butchery in small with his own hand. No doubt 
wickedness hath Its rewards to distribute; but whoso wins im this devil's 
game must needs be baser, more cruel, more brutal than the order of this 
planet will allow for the multitude bom of woman, the most of these 
carrying a form of conscience— a fear which is the shadow of justice, a 
pity which is the shadow of love— tliat hindereth from the prize of serene 
wickedness, itself difficult of maintenance in our composite flesh. 

On the 29th of December Deronda knew that the 
Qrandcourte had arrived at the Abbey, but he had 
had no glimpse of them before he went to dress for 
dinner. There had been a splendid fall of snow, 
allowing the party of children the rare pleasures of 
snow-balling and snow-building, and in the Christ- 
mas holidays the Mallinger girls were content with 
no amusement unless it were joined in and managed 
by "cousin," as they had always called Deronda. 
After that outdoor exertion he had been playing 



4 DANIEL DERONDA. 

billiards, and thus the hours had passed without his 
dwelling at all on the prospect of meeting Gwen- 
dolen at dinner. Nevertheless that prospect was 
interesting to him; and when, a little tired and 
heated with working at amusement, he went to his 
room before the half-hour bell had rung, he began 
to think of it with some speculation on the sort of 
influence her marriage with Grandcourt would have 
on her, and on the probability that there would be 
some discernible shades of change in her manner 
since he saw her at Diplow, just as there had been 
since his first vision of her at Leubronn. 

"I fancy there are some natures one could see 
growing or degenerating every day, if one watched 
them," was his thought. "I suppose some of us go 
on faster than others ; and I am sure sbe is a crea- 
ture who keeps strong traces of anything that has 
once impressed her. That little affair of the neck- 
lace, and thle idea that somebody thought her gam- 
bling wrong, had evidently bitten into her. But 
such impressibility tells both ways : it may drive 
one to desperation as soon as to anything better. 
And whatever fascinations Grandcourt may have 
for capricious tastes — good heavens I who can : be- 
lieve that he would call out the tender affeotions in 
daily companionship? One might be tempted i;o 
horsewhip him for the sake of getting some show 
of passion into his face and speech. I'm afraid she 
married him out of ambition — to escape poverty. 
But why did she run out of his way at first? The 
poverty came after, though. Poor thing! she may 
have been ui^ged into if. How can one feel any- 

ng else than pity for a young creature like that 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 5 

— fiill of unused life — ^ignorantly rash — hanging all 
her blind expectations on that remnant of a human 
being!" 

Doubtless the phrases which Deronda's meditation 
applied to the. bridegroom were the less complimen- 
tary for the excuses and pity in which it clad the 
bride. His notion of Grandcourt as a " remnant " 
was founded on no particular knowledge, but simply 
on the impression wliich ordinary polite intercourse 
had given him that Grandcourt had Worn out all his ^ 
natural healthy interest in things. 

In general, (me may be sure that whenever a 
marriage of any mark takes place, male acquaint- 
ances . are likely to pity the bride, female acquainir 
arices the bridegroom : each, it is thought, might 
have d6ne better; and especially where the bride 
is charming, young gentlemen on the sceiie are apt 
to condud© tliatshe can have no real attachment 
to a fellow so uninteresting to themselves as her 
husband, but has married him on other groiinds. 
Who under such circumstaiaces pities the husband ? 
Even his female friends ai*e apt to think his position 
retributive : he should have chosen some one else< 
But perhaps :Deronda may be excused that he did 
not prepare aay pity for Grandcourt, who had never 
struck 'acquaintances as likely to come out of his 
experiendes with more suffering than he inflicted; 
whereas for Gwendolen, young, headlong, eager for 
pleasure, fed with the flattery which makes a lovely 
girl believe in her divine right to rule — ^how quickly 
might life turn from expectancy to a bitter sense' of 
the irremediable I After what he had seen of her 
he must have had rather dull feelings not to have 



6 DANIEL DERONDA. 

looked forward with some interest to her entrance 
into the room. Still, since the honeymoon was 
already three weeks in the distance, and Gwen- 
dolen had been enthroned not only at Ryelands 
but at Diplow, ' she was likely to have composed 
her countenance with suitable manifestation or con- 
cealment, not being one who would indulge the 
curious by a helpless exposure of her feelings. 

A variou« party had been invited to meet the new 
couple : the old aristocracy was represented by Lord 
and Ijady Pentreath; the old gentry by yotmg Mr 
and Mrs Fitzadam of the Worcestershire branch of 
the Fitzadatos ; politics and the- public 'good,' as 
specialised in the cider interest, by Mr Fenn, 
member for West Orchards, accompanied by his 
two daughters ; Lady Mallinger's family, by her 
brother, Mr Raymond, and: his wife ; the useful 
bachelor element by Mr Sinker, the eminent CkMin- 
sel, and by Mr Vandemdodt, whose acquaintance 
Sir Hugo had found pleasant enough at Leubr<i>fiii 
to be adopted in Englaiwi 

All had assembled in the drawing-room before' 
the new couple appeared. Meanwhile thie time 
was being passed chiefly in noticing the ohfldren — 
various little Raymonds, nephews and nieces of Lady 
Mallinger's^ with her own three girls, who were 
always allowed to appear at this hour. The scene 
was really delightful — enlarged by falH-length por- 
traits with deep backgrounds, inserted in' the cedar 
pahelliiig — surmounted by a ceiling that glowed 
with the rich fcolours of the coats of awns ranged 

tween the sockets — ^ illuminated almost as much 
the red fire of oak -boughs as 'by the pale wax- 



BOOK V. MOKDECAI. 7 

lights — stilled by the deep-piled carpet and by the 
high English breeding that subdues all voices ; 
while the mixture of ages, from the white-haired 
Lord and Lady Pentreath to the four-year-old Edgar 
Kaymond, gave a varied charm to the living groups. 
Lady Mallinger, with fair matronly roundness and 
mildly prominent blue eyes, moved about in her 
black velvet, carrying a tiny white dog on her arm 
as a sort of finish to her costume ; the children 
were scattered among the ladies, while most of the 
gentlemen were standing rather aloof conversing 
with that very moderate vivacity observable during 
the long minutes before dinner. Deronda was a little 
out of the circle in a dialogue fixed upon him by Mr 
Vandemoodt, a man of the best Dutch blood im- 
ported at the revolution : fOr the rest, one of those 
commodious persons in society who are nothing 
particular themselves, but are understood to be 
acquainted with the best in every department ; 
close -clipped, pale -eyed, nonchalant, as good a foil 
as could well be found to the intense colouring 
and vivid, gravity of Deronda. 

He was talking of the bride and bridegroom, 
whose . appeeurance was being waited for. Mr Van- 
demoodt was an industrious gleaner of personal 
details, and could probably tell everything about 
a great philosopher or physicist except his theories 
or discoveries : he was now implying that he had 
learned many facts about Grandcourt sinoe meeting 
him at Leubronn. 

"Men who have seen a good deal of life don't 
always end by choosing their wives so well. He 
has had rather an anecdotic history — gone rather 



8 DANIEL DERONDA. 

deep into pleasures, 1 fancy, lazy as he is. But, of 
course, you know all about him/' 

"No, really," said Deronda, in an indifferent 
tone. "I know little more of him than that he 
is Sir Hugo's nephew." 

But now the door opened and deferred any satis- 
faction of Mr Vandemoodt's communicativeness. 

The scene was one to set off any figure of dis- 
tinction that entered on it, and certainly when Mr 
and Mrs Grandcourt entered, no beholder could 
deny that their figures had distinction. The bride- 
groom had neither more nor less easy perfection of 
costume, neither more nor less well -cut impassi- 
bility of face, th6,n before his marriage. It was to 
be supposed of him that he would put up with noth- 
ing less than the best in outward equipment, wife, 
included ; and the bride was what he might have 
been expected to choose. " By Greorge, I think 
she's handsomer, if anything ! " said Mr Vander- 
noodt. And Deronda was of the same opinion, but 
he said nothing. The white silk and diamonds — 
it may seem strange, but she did wear the diamonds 
on her neck, in her ears, in her hair — might have 
something to" do with the! new imposingness of her 
beauty, which flashed on him as more unquestion- 
able if not more thoroughly satisfactory than when he 
had first seen her at the gaming-table. Some &ces 
which are peculiar in their beauty are like original 
works of art: for the first time they are almost 
always met with question. But in seeing Gwen- 
dolen at Diplow, Deronda had discerned in her more 
n he had expected of that tender appealing 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 9 

chatm which we call womanly. Was there any new 
change since then ? He distrusted his impressions ; 
but as he saw her receiving greetings with what 
seemed a proud cold quietude and a superficial 
smile, there seemed to be at work within her the 
same demonic force that had possessed her when 
she took him in her resolute glance and turned- 
away a loser from the gaming-table. There was 
no time for more of a conclusion — no time even 
for him to give his greeting beforie the summons 
to. dinner. 

He sat not far from opposite to her at table, and 
could sometime© hear what she said in answer to 
Sir Hugo, who was at his liveliest in conversation 
with her ; but though he looked towards her with 
the intention of bowing, she gave him no oppor- 
tunity of doing so for some time. At last Sir Hugo, 
who might have imagined that they had already 
spoken to each other, said, " Deronda, you will like 
to hear what Mrs Qrandcourt tells me about your 
favourite Klesmer." 

Gwendolen's eyelids had been lowered, and 
Deronda, already looking at her, thought he dis- 
covered a quivering reluctance as she was obliged 
to raise them and return his unembarrassed bow 
and smile, hex own smile being one of the Kp 
merely. It was but an instant, and Sir Hugo 
continued without pause— 

"The Arrowpoints have condoned the . marriage, 
and he is spending the Christmas with his bride 
at Quetoham." 

" I suppose he will be glad of it for the sake of 



10 DANIEL BERONDA. 

his wife, else I daresay he would not have minded 
keeping at a distance," said Deronda. 

"It's a sort of troubadour story," said Lady Pen- 
treath, an easy, deep -voiced old lady; "Tm glad 
to find a little romance left among us. I think 
our young people now are getting too worldljfc 
wiseJ' 

" It shows the Arrowpoints' good sense,' however, 
to have adopted the affair, after the fuss in the 
papersy" said Sir Hugo. "And disowning your 
own child because of a mesalliance is something 
like disowning your one eye: everybody knows 
it's yours, and you have no other to make an 
appearance with." 

" As to mSsalliancej there's no blood on any sidfe,*' 
said Lady Pentreath* " Old Admiral Arrowpoint 
was one of Nelson's men, you know — a doctor's 
son. And we all know how the mother's money 
came." 

"If there were any mesalliance in the cctse, I 
should say it was on Klesmer's side," said Beronda. 

"Ah, you think it is a case of the immortal 
marrying the mortal. What is your opinion?" 
said Sir Hugo, looking at Gwendolen. 

" I have no doubt that Herr Klesmer thinks him- 
self immortal; But I daresay his w ife will bum as 
much incense before him as he requires," said 
Gwendolen. She had recovered any composure 
that she might have lost. 

"Don't you approve of a wife burning incense 
before her husband?" said Sir Hugo, with an air 
* jocoseness. 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 11 

"Oh yes," said Gwendolen, "if it were only to 
make others believe in him/' She paused a mo- 
ment and then said with more gaiety, " When Herr 
Klesmer admires his own genius, it will take off 
some of the absurdity if his wife says Amen." 

" Klesmer is no favourite of yours, I see," said 
Sir Hugo. 

" I think vety highly of him, I assure you," said 
Gwendolen. " His genius is quite above my judg- 
ment, and I know him to be exceedingly generous." 

She spoke with the sudden seriousness which is 
often meant to correct an unfair or indiscreet sally, 
hdving a bitterness against Klesmer in her secret 
soul which she knew herself unable to justify. Der- 
onda was wondering what he should have thought- 
of her if he had never heard of her before : probably 
tiiat she put on a little hardness and defiance by 
way of concealing some painful oonsciousnesB-^if, 
indeed, he could imagine her manners otherwise 
than in the light of his suspicion. But why did 
she not recognise him with more friendliness? 

Sir Hugo, by way of changiiig the subject, said to 
her, "Is not this a beautiful room? It- was part of 
the refectory of the Abbey. There was a division 
made by those pillars and the ilhree arches, and 
afterwards they were built up. Else it was half 
as large again originally. There used to be rows 
of Benedictines sitting where we are sitting. Sup- 
pose we were suddenly to see the lights burning 
low and the ^osts of the old monks risinpr behind 
all our chairs ! " 

" Please don't I " said Gwendolen, with a playful 



12' DANIEL DERONDA. 

shudder. "It is very nice to come after ancestors 
and monks, but they should know their places and 
keep underground. I should be rather frighteaaed 
to go about this house all alone. I suppose the old 
generations must be angry with us because we hav-e 
altered things so much." 

"Oh, the ghosts must be of all political parties,", 
said Sir Hugo. " And those fellows who wanted to 
chfiinge things while they lived and couldn't do, it- 
must be on our side. But if you would not like . to 
go over the house alone, you will like to go in com- 
pany, I hope. You and Grandcourt ought to see.it 
alL And we will ask Deronda to go round witli us. 
He is more learned about it than I am." The 
baronet was in the most complaisant of humours. 

Gwendolen stole a glance at Deronda, who must 
have heard what Sir Hugo said, for he had his face 
turned towards them helping himself to an entree; 
but he looked, as impassive as a picture. At the; 
notion of Deronda's showing her and Grandcouirt 
the place which was to. be theirs, and which she 
with painful emphasis .rremembered might have 
been his (perhaps, if others had acted differently), 
certain thoughts had rushed in — thoughts often 
repeated within i her, but now returning on an 
occasion embarrassingly new ; and she was con< 
sciouB of something furtive and awkward in her 
glance, which Sir Hugo must have noticed. With 
her usual readiness of resource against betrayal, she 
said playftdly, "You don't know how much I am 
afraid of Mr Deronda." 

" How's that ? Because you think him too 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 13 

learned ? " said Sir Hugo, whom the peculiarity 
of her glance had not escaped. 

"No. It is ever since I first saw him at Leu- 
bronn. Because when he came to look on at the 
roulette -table, I began to lose. He cast an evil 
eye on my play. He didn't approve it. He has 
told me BO. And now whatever I do before him, 
I am afraid he will cast an evil eye upon it." 

" Gkid ! I'm rather afraid of him myself when he 
doesn^t approve," said Sir Hugo, glancing at Der- 
onda ; and then turning his face towards Gwen- 
dolen, he said less audibly, "I don't think ladies 
generally object to have his eyes upon them." The 
baronet's small chronic complaint of facetiousness 
was at this moment almost as annoying to Gwen- 
dolen as it often was to Deronda. 

" I object to any eyes that are critical," she said, 
in a cool high voice, with a turn of her neck. " Are 
there many of these old rooms left in the Abbey ? " 

" Not many. There is a fine cloistered court with 
a long gallery above it. But the finest bit of all is 
turned into stables. It is part of the old church. 
Wlien I improved the place I made the most of 
every other bit ; but it was out of my reach to 
change the stables, so the horses have the benefit 
of the fine old choir. You must go and see it." 

"I shall like to see the horses as well as the 
• building," said Gwendolen. 

"Oh, I have no stud to speak of. Grandcourt 
will look with contempt at my horses," said Sir 
Hugo. "I've given up hunting, and go on in a 
jog-trot way, as becomes an old gentleman with 



14 DANIEL DERONDA. 

daughters. The fact is, I went in for doing too 
much at this place. We all lived at Diplow for 
two yeaTS while the alterations were going on. 
Do you like Diplqw?" 

"Not particularly,!' S£|.id Gwendolen, with indif- 
ference. One would have thought that the young 
lady had all her life had more family seats than she 
cared to go to. 

" Ah ! it will not do after Ryelands," said Sir 
Hugo, well pleased. " Grandcourt, I know, took it 
for the sake of the hunting. But he found something 
so much better there," added the baronet, lowering 
his voice, " that he might well prefer it to any other 
place in the world." 

"It has one attraction for me," said Gwendolen, 
passing over this compliment with a chill smile, 
"that it is within reach of Offendene." 

" I understand that," said Sir Hugo, and then let 
the subject drop. 

What amiable baronet can escape the effect of a 
strong desire for a particular pqssession ? Sir Hugo 
would have been glad that Grandcourt, with or with- 
out reason, should prefer any other place to Diplow ; 
but inasmuch as in the pure process of wishing we 
can always make the conditions of our gratification 
benevolent, he did wish that Grandcourt's conve- 
nient disgust for Diplow should not be associated 
with his marriage of this very charming bride. 
Gwendolen was much to the baronet's ta$te, but, as 
he observed afterwards to Lady Mallinger, he should 
never have taken her for a young girl who had 
carried beyond her expectations. 



BOOK V. MOHDECAI. 15 

Deronda had not heard much of tliis conver- 
sation, having given his attention elsewhere, but 
the glimpses he had of Gwendolen's manner deep- 
ened the impression that it had something newly 
artificial. 

Later in the drawing*room, Deronda, at somebody's 
request, sat down to the piano and sang. tA^ffcer- 
wards Mrs Baymond took his place ; and on rising 
he observed that Gwendolen ha,d left her seat, and 
had come to this end of the room^ as if to listen 
more fully, but was now standing with her back to 
every one, apparently contemplating a fine cowled 
head carved in ivory which hung over a small table« 
He longed to go to her and speak. Why should he 
not obey such an impulse, as he would have done 
towards any other lady in the ■ room ? Yet he hesi- 
tated some moments, observing the graceful lines of 
her back, but not moving. 

If you have any reason for not indulging a wish 
to speak to a fair woman, it is a ba^ plan to look 
long at her back : the wish to see what it screens 
becomes the stronger. There may be a very sweet 
smile on the other side. Deronda ended by going 
to the end of the small table, at right angles to 
Gwendolen's position, but before he could speak she 
had turned on him no smile, but such an appealing 
look of sadness, so utterly different from the chill 
effort of her recognition at table, that his speech was 
checked. For what was an appreciable space of 
time to both, though the observation of otliers could 
not have measured it, they looked at each other- — 
she seeming to take the deep rest of confession, he 



16 DANIEL DERONDA. 

with an answering depth of sympathy that neutral- 
ised other feelings. 

"Will you not join in the music?" he said, by 
way of meeting the necessity for speech. 

That her look of confession had been involuntary 
was shown by that just perceptible shake and change 
of countenance with which she roused herself to 
reply cahnly,. "I join in it by listening. I am fond 
of music." 

" Are you not a musician ? " 

" I have given a great deal of time to music. But 
I have not talent enough to make it worth while. I 
shall never sing again." 

"But if you are fond of music, it will always be 
worth while in private, for your own delight. . I 
make it a virtue to be content with my middling- 
ness," said Deronda, smiling ; " it is always pardon- 
able, so that one does not ask others to take it for 
superiority." 

"I cannot imitate you," said Gwendolen, recover- 
ing her tone of artificial vivacity. " To be middling 
with me is another phrase for being dull. And the 
worst fault I have to find with the world is, that it 
is dull. Do you know, I am going to justify gam- 
bling in spite of you. It is a refuge from dulness." 

"I don't admit the justification," said Deronda. 
"I think what we call the dulness of things is a 
disease in ourselves. Else how could any one find 
an intense interest in life ? And many do." 

" Ah, I see ! The fault I find in the world is my 
own fault," said Gwendolen, smiling at him. Then 
after a moment, looking up at the ivory again, she 



\ 



BOOK V. MOEDECAI. . 17 

said, " Bo ymi never find fault with l^he ^orld or 
with others ?'^ 

"Oh yes.' When I am in a grumbling' mood." 
. " And hatj9 people ? Confess you hate them when 
they stand iri your way — 'when their. gain is your 
loss?. That is your own phrase, you know." 

" We are often standing in each other's way when 
we can't h^lp it^ I think it is stupid to hate people 
on that groiund*" 

"But if they injure you and could have Mped 
it ? " said , Gwendolen, with a hard intensity un- 
accaunitable in -incidetital talk, like this* 

Der4)tida wondered at her choice of. subjects. A 
painfo): imprefitsion arrested his answer a moment, 
but at last he said, with a graver, deeper intonatiouj 
" Why then, after all, I prefer my place: to theirs." 

" There I believe you are right," said Gwendeien, 
wdth ai e-udden little lai*gh, and turned to join the 
^oiip at the pianoi 

Beronda looked .round for Graaidcoiirt, wondering 
wheth^)he followed his bride's moveoaents with any 
attention.; but.it was mther undisoeming in him>to 
suppose that. he could find out the fact. Grandcourt 
bad- a delusive mood of observing whatever, , had an 
iater^st ;for ;him, which could be surpassed by no 
sleepyieyed animal: on the watch for prey. At4;hat 
moment he was: plunged in the depth of an easy«- 
chair, bieing .talked to by Mr Vanderrioodt, who 
apparently, thought the acquaintance of such la 
bridegroom ; worth cultivating; and an incautious 
person might have supposed it safe to. telegi^iph 
secrets infront of him, the oommon prejudice being 



18 DANIEL DERONDA. ' 

that yoTir quick observer is one whose eyeS iiave 
quick movements. Not at all. If yon want a re- 
spectable vritness who will see nothing inconvenient, 
choose a vivacious gentleman, very much on the 
alert, with ; two eyes wide open, a glass in one of 
them, and an entire impartiality as to the purpose 
of looking. If Grandcourt cared to keep any one 
under his power he saw them out of the comers of 
his long narrow eyes, and if they went behind him, 
he had a constructive process by which he knew 
what they were doing there. He knew perfectly 
well where .his wife was, and how she was behaving. 
Was he going to be a jealous husband ? I>eronda 
imagined that to be likely ; but his imaginatibn was 
as much astray about Grandcourt as it would have 
been about an unexplored continent where all the 
species were peculiar. He did not conceive that he 
himself was a likely subject of jealousy, or that he 
should give any pretext for it ; but thd suspicion 
that a wife is not happy naturally leads one to 
speculate on the husband's private deportment ; and 
Deronda found himself after one o'clock in thei morn- 
ing in the rather ludicrous position of sitting up 
severely holding a Hebrew • grammar in his haiids 
{for somehow, in deference to Mordecai, lie had begun 
to study Hebrew), with the consciousness that he 
had been in that attitude nearly an hour, and hod 
thought of nothing but Gwendolen and her husband. 
To be an unusual young man means for the most 
part to get a difficult mastery over the usual, which 
is often like the sprite of iU-luck you pack up your 
goods to escape from, and see grinning at you from 



BOOK V.-^MDRDECAL 19 

the top of yonr luggage-van. The peculi^ties of 
DeroDda^s nature had been acutely touched by the 
brief incidents and 'wrords which made the history of 
his intercourse with Gwendolen ; and this evening's 
slight addition had given them an importunate re- 
currence. It was not vanity — it was ready sym- 
pathy that had made him idive to a certain appeal- 
ingness in her behaviouir towards him ; and the 
difficulty with which she had seemed to raise her 
eyes to bow to him, in the first instance, was to be 
interpreted now by tiiat unmistakeable look of invol- 
untary confidence which she had afterwards turned 
on him under the consciousniess of his approach. 

" What is the use of it all ? " thought Deronda, as 
he threw down his grammar, and began to undress. 
"I can't do anything to help her — nobody can, if 
she has &und out her mistake ahready. And it 
seems to me that she has a dreary lack of the ideas 
that might help her. Strange and piteous to think 
what a centre of wretchedness a delicate piece, of 
human flesh like that might be, wrapped rouiid 
with fine raiinent, her ears pierced for gems, her 
head held loftily, her mouth all smiling pretence, 
the poor soul within her sitting in sick distaste of 
all things ! But what do I know of her ? There 
may be a demon in her to match the worst husband, 
for what I can teU. She was clearly an ill-educated, 
worldly girl : perhaps she is a ccjquette." 

This last reflection, not much believed in, was a 
self-administered dose of caution, prompted partly by 
Sir Hugo's much-contemned joking on the subject of 
flirtation. Deronda resolved iiot to Volunteer any 



20 . DAI^IBL DERONDA. ; 

tete-d-tite with Gwendolen during the feW- days of 
her stay at the Abbey ; ahd he was capable of 
keeping a resolve in spite^ of . -much inclination to 
the contrary. . ; ," . 

But a man caiinot i^esoive about a woman's actions, 
least of. all about those of a woman like Gwendolen, 
in whose nature there, wasi a combination of proud 
reserve with rashness, of perilously «• poised terror 
with defiance, which might alternately flatter and 
disappoint control* Few words could less represent 
her than *♦ coquette." She had a native i lovC' of 
homage, and belief in her own power ; but no cold 
artifice for the sake of : enslaving. And. the. poor 
thing's belief in her power, with her other dreams 
before marriage, had often- to be thrust aside now 
like the toys of a sick child, which it looks at with 
dull eyes, and has no heart to play with, howevi^r 
it may try. 

The next day at lunch Sir Hugo said to her, 
" The thaw has gone on like magic, and it's so 
pleasant out of doors just now — shall we go. and 
see the stables and the other old bits about the 
place?" ; : 

^^Yes, pray," said Gwendolen. f'You will like 
to see the stables, Henleigh?^' she added, looking 
8bt her husband. 

" Uncommonly," said Grandcourt, with an indiffer- 
ence which ^seemed to give irony to the word, as 
he returned her look. It was the first time'Deronda 
had seen them speak to each other since their arrival, 
and he thought their exchange of looks a« cold and 
oflRcial a» if it had been a ceremony to keep up a 



BOOK v.— -MORDECAI. 21 

chaorter. Still; the English fondness for reserve will 
account for nltifch ' negation ; and Grandcourt's man- 
ners with an extra veiL of reserve over them might 
be expected to present th^ extreme type of the 
national taste. ' 

" Who 'else is inclined to* make the tonr of tlie 
house and premises ? " said Sir Hugo. " The ladies 
nrast mufifte themselves : . there is only just about 
time to do it well before • sunset. You will go,; 
Dan, won't you?" 

" Oh yes/' «aid Deionda^ carelessly, knowing that 
Sir Hugo would think any excuse disobliging. 

** All meet in the library,, then, when they are ready 
— say in half an 'hour," said the. baronet; Gwendolen 
made herself ready with wonderful quickness, and in 
ten minutes came down ihto the library in her sables, 
plume, and little thick boots. > As soon as she entered 
the room she wa4 aware that some one else was there: 
it was precisely what she. had hoped for. Deronda 
was staaading with his back- towards her at the. far 
end of the room, and was looking over a newspapea*. 
How could little thick boots make any noise on 
an Axininster carpet? And to cough would have 
seemed an intended signalling which her pride could 
not condescend to ; also, she felt bashful about walk- 
ing up to. him and • lettinjg him know that she was 
there, though it was her hunger, to speak to him 
which had set her imagination on .constructing this 
chance of finding him, and had made her hurry down, 
as birds hover near the water which they dare not 
drink. Always ■ uneasily dubious about his opinion 
of her, she felt a. peculiar anxiety to-day, lest he 



22 DANIEL DERONPA. 

might think of her with oontempt, us one triumph- 
antly conscious of being Grrandcourt's wife, the future 
lady of this domain. It was her habitual effort now 
to magnify the satisfactions of her pride, on which 
she nourished her strength ; but somehow Dero^da's 
being there disturbed them all. There was not the 
faintest touch of coquetry in the. attitude of her mind 
towards him : he was unique to her among men^ be- 
cause he had impressed her as being not her admirer 
but her superior : in some mysterious way he was 
becoming a part of her conscience, as one woman 
whose nature is an object of revereritial belief, may 
become a new conscience to a man. 

And now he would not look round and find out 
that she was there I The paper crackled in his 
hand, his head rose and sank, exploring those stupid 
columns, and he was evidently stroking his beard, 
as if this world were a very easy affair to her. Of 
course all the rest of the company would soon be 
down, and tlie opportunity of her saying something 
to efface her flippancy of the evening before, would 
be quite gone. She felt sick with irritation— so fast 
do young creatures like her absorb misery through 
invisible suckers of their own fancies — ^and her face 
had gathered that pelculiar expression winch comes 
with a mortification to which tears are forbidden. 

At last he threw down the paper and turned round. 

" Oh, you are there already," he said, coming for- 
ward a step or two; *;*! must go and put. on my 
coat." 

He turned aside and walked out of the room. 
This was behaving quite badly. . Mere pohteness 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 23 

would have made him stay to exchange some words 
before leaving her alone. It was true that Grand- 
conrt came in with Sir Hngo immediately Aftet, so 
that the words must have been too few to be worth 
anything. As it was, they saw him walking from 
the library door. 

"A — ^you look rather ill," said Grandcourt, going 
straight np to her, standing in front of her, and look- 
ing intoj her eyes. " Do you feel equal to the walk ? *' 

"Yes, I shall like it," said Gwendolen, without 
the slightest movement except this of the lips. 

" We could put off going over the house, you know, 
and only go out of doors," said Sir Hugo, kindly, 
while Grandcourt turned aside. 

" Oh dear no ! " said Gwendolen, speaking with 
determination ; " let us put off nothing. .1 want a 
long walk." 

The rest of the walking party — two ladies and two 
gentlemen besides Deronda — had now Assembled; 
and Gwendolen, rallying, went with due cheerfulness 
by the side of Sir Hugo, paying apparently to eq,ual 
attention to the commentaries Deronda was called 
upon to give on the various architectural fragments, 
and to Sir Hugo's reasons for not attempting to 
remedy the mixture of the undisguised modern with 
the antique — which in his opinion only made the 
place the more truly historical. On their way to 
the buttery and kitchen they took the outside of the 
house and paused before a beautiful pointed door- 
way, which was the only old remnant in the east 
front. 

"Well, now, to my mind," said Sir Hugo, ,^*that 



24 DANIEL DERONDA. 

is more interesting standing as it is in the middle 
of what is frankly four centuries later, than if the 
whole front had been dressed up in a pretence of 
the thirteenth century. Additions ought to smack 
of the time when they are made and carry the stanap 
of their period. I wouldn't destroy atiy old bits, 
but that notion of reproducing the old is a mistake, 
T think. At least, if a ' man likes to do it he. must 
pay for his whistle. Besides, where are you to stopi 
along that road— ^making loopholes where 'you don't 
want to peep,' and so on ? You may as well ask me to 
wear oilt the stones with kneeling ; eh, Grandcourt ? " 

"A confounded nuisance," drawled Qraiidoourt. 
"I hate fellows wanting to howl litanies -^acting 
the greatest bores that have ever: existed." 

"Well, yes, that's what their romanticism : must 
come to," said Sir Hugo, in a tone of cotifidential 
assent-^** that is, if they carry it out logically." 

"I think that way of arguing against a.jcourse 
because it may be ridden down to. an absurdity Would 
soon bring life to a standstill,'- said Deronda. " It 
is nbt the logic of human action, but of a roasting- 
jack, that miBst go on to the last turn when it has 
been once wound up. We can do nothing safely 
without some judgment as to where we are to stop." 
"^* I find the rule of the pocket the best guide," 
said Sir Hugo, laughingly. " And as for most of 
your new-old building, you had need to lure men to 
scratch and chip it all over artistically to 'give it an 
elderly-looking surfade ; which at the prcfsent rata 
of labour would not answer." 

** Do yon want to keep up the old fashipais, then, 



BOOK V.-^MORDECAI. 26 

Mr Deronda?" said Gwendolen, taking advantage 
of the freedom of grooiping to feJl back a little, while • 
Sir Hugo and Grandoonrt went on. 

" Some of them. I don't see why we should not 
use our choice there as we do elsewhere ^^ or why 
either age or novelty by itself is aii argument for or 
against To delight in doing things beoauae onr 
falters did them is good if it shuts out nothing 
better ; it enlarges the range of affection — arid affec- 
tion is the broadest basis of good in life." 

" Do you think so ? " said Gwendolen, with a little 
surprise. "I should have thought you oared most 
about ideas, knowledge, wisdom, and all that." 

" But to care about them is a sort of affection," said 
Deronda, smiling at her. sudden na^veie, "Call it 
attachment, imtereist, willingness to bear a great 
deal for the sake of being with them and having 
them from injury. Of course it makes a difference 
if the objects of interest are human beings ; but 
generally in all deep a£feotiohs the objects are a 
mixture— half persons and half ideas — sentimehta 
and affections flow in together. '\ 

"I wonder whether I understand that," -said 
Gwendolen, putting up her chin in her old sailcy 
manner. " I believe I am not very affectionate ; 
perhaps you mean to tell me, that is the reasoii 
why I don't see mnich good in life." 

" No, I did not misaiii to tell yon that ; but I admit 
that I should think it true if I believed what you 
say of ybnETself," said Deronda, gravely. 

Here Sir Hugo and GranticouTl turned round and 
pHQSed. 

VOL. II. B 



26 DAKIEL DERONDA. 

"I never can get Mr Deronda to pay me a compli- 
ment," said Gwendolen. " I have quite a curiosity 
to see whether a little flattery can be extracted from 
him." 

" Ah ! " said Sir Hugo, glancing at Deronda^ " the 
fact is, it is hopeless to flatter a bride. We give it 
up in despair. She has been so fed on sweet 
speeches that everything we say seems tasteless.*' 

" Quite true," said Grwendolen, bending her head 
and smiling. " Mr Grandoourt won me by neatly*- 
turned compliments. If there had been one word 
out of place it would have been fetaL" 

"Do you hear that?" said Sir Hugo, looking at 
the husband. 

" Yes," said Grandcourt, without change of counr 
tenance. " It is a deucedly hard thing to keep up, 
though." 

All this seemed to Sir Hugo a natural pla3rfulness 
between such a husband and wife; but Derondte^ 
wondered at the misleading alternations in Gwen- 
dolen's manner, which at one moment seemed to 
invite sympathy by childlike indiscretion, at another 
to repel it by proud concealment He tried to keep 
out of her way by devoting himself to Miss Juliet 
Fenn, a young lady whose profile had been so ujo- 
fevourably decided by circumstances over which she 
had no control, that Gwendolen some . months ago 
had felt it impossible to be jealous of her. Never- 
theless when they were seeing the kitchen — a part 
of the original building in perfect preservation — the 
depth of shadow in the nidies of the stone walls 
and groined vault, the play of light from the hxhge 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 27 

glowing fire on poiLisbed tin, brass, and popper, the 
fine resonance that came with every sound of voice 
or metal, were all spoiled for Gwendolen, and Sir 
Hngo*^ speech about them was made rather impor- 
^inate, because Deronda was discoursing to the 
odier ladies &nd kept at a distance from her. It did 
not signify that the other gentlemen took the opjporn 
tunityof being near her: of what use in the world 
was their admiration while she had an uueasy sense 
that there was some standard in Deronda's mind 
which measured her into littleness? Mr Vander-^ 
noodt, who had the mania of always describing one 
thing while you were looking at another, was quite 
intolerable with his insistance on Lord Blough's 
kitchen, which he had seen in the north. 

^^ Pray don't ask us to see two kitchens at once. 
It makes the heat doubla I must really go out of 
it," she cri^d at last, marching resolutely into the 
open air, and leaving the others in the rear. Grande 
court was already out, and as she joined him, he 
said — 

"I wondered how long you meant to stay in 
that damned place" — one of the freedoms he had 
assuuMid as a husband being the use of his strongest 
epithets: Gwendolen, turning to see the rest of the 
party approach, said — 

" It was certainly rather too warm in one*8 wraps." 

They walked on the gravel across a green court, 
where the snow still lay in islets on the grass, and 
in masses on the boughs of the great cedar and the 
crenelated coping of the stone walls, and then into 
a larger court, where there was another cedar, to 



28 ' DANIEL DERONDA. 

find th-e beautiftil choir long ago turned into stables^ 
in the fir«t instance perhaps after an imprompta 
fashion by troopers, who had a pious satisfactkicm 
in insulting the priests of Baal and fhe images of 
Ashtoreth, the queen of heaven. The exterior — ^its 
west end, save for the sibable door, Walled in with; 
brick and covered with ivy -^ was much defifcc^d, 
maimed of finial and guxgoyle, tibe friable, limestone 
broken and fretted, and lending its soft grey to a 
powdery dark lichen ; the long, windowvs, too,, were 
filled in with brick as fiir as the springing of the 
arches, the broad clerestory windows with wire or 
ventilating blinds. With the low wintry afbernoon 
sun upon it, sending shadows from the cedar boughs, 
and lighting up the touches of snow remaining on 
every ledge, it had still a scarcely disturbed aspect 
of antique solemnity^ which gave the scene in the 
interior rather a startling effect ; though, ecclesias- 
tioal or reverential indignation apart, the eyes could 
hardly help dwelling with pleasure on its piquant 
picture squeness. Each finely -arched chapel was 
turned into a stall, where in the dusty glazing of 
ihe windows there still gleamed patches of crimson, 
orange, blue, and palest violet ; for the rest, the 
choir had been gutted, the floor levelled, paved, and 
drained according to the most approved fashion, and 
a line of loose*boxes erected in the middle : a soft 
light fell from the upper windows on sleek brown 
or grey flanks and haunches ; on mild equine faces 
looking out with active nostrils over the varnished 
brown boarding; on the hay hanging from racks 
where the saints onoe looked down from the altar- 



BOOK V. MOBDECAI. ,29 

pieces, and on the pale golden straw scattered or in 
heaps ; on a little whiter and -liver -coloured spaniel 
mafcing his bed on the back of an elderly haokaey, 
and oh jfour^anpient an^els^ still shcywing signs, pf 
drivcrliion like mntilated nikartyra— while oyer all, the 
grand pbimifeed roof, untouched ':by reforcning wash, 
showed its lines aiid coloubs myftteciously thtcmgh 
veiling shadow and c6bweb, and a hx)of now and 
than striking /against the.heaids seemed to fill jbhe 
vaiilt .wlitli thnhder, white outside "there): wa^ the 
an«wering bay of thei' blood-hounds. ... 

" (Ma, this- is glorioue I " Gwendolen burst forth, ,i» 
forgetfulness of everything .hut the immediate im- 
pression : there had been a little intoxication for her 
indhe grand apaoea of ;0o\irts and building, 9<nd the 
febt of. her being an imporltot.perspniamoi^g ;thjem. 
"iThis is glOTQUfl ! Only { wi^ tllere were a h^re^ 
ia ev^exy.oae of the boxes, :. I -would ten times rather 
have these stables thaip. those at Diplow*" 

, But she had no sooner #aid this tl^an f ome oon- 
sdoiisfjaies*: arrested her, ^i«nd involuntarily she tijmed 
her; eyes towards Derondg^, who oddly enough had 
tsiken off his felt hat a^d stood holding it bpf<?re 
him .a$ >f they, h^ entered -a room, or an actual 
church. He, like ojthers, happened to be, looking at 
he^r^i and their pyes. n^et — to her intense,, vexatioi?^ 
for it seemed to her that . J>y looking at hi^^ she had 
betrayed the reference of her thoughts, and ^he felt 
hersielf blushing:, she e^ggerated the impressig^ 
that eveitt Sir Hugo as well as Deronda would-^have 
of her bad taste in referring to the pgssession of 
anything at the Abbey ; . as for Deronda,. she had 



'30 DANIEL' DERXDNDA. 

pi-obably made him despise her. Her annoyance at 
what she imagined to be the obviousness of her pon4 
fusion robbed her of her usual facility ia carrying 
it off by playful speech, and turning upi her face to 
look at the roof, she wheeled awiy in that attitude. 
•If ^ny had noticed her blush as significant, they had 
certainly not interpreted it by the secret windings 
and recesses of her feeling. A blush is no language : 
only a dubious flag -signal which may mean either 
of two contradictories. Deronda alone had. a faint 
guess at some part of her feeling ; but while he was 
observing her he was himself under observation.* 

'" Do you take off your hat to the horses?" said 
Grandcourt, with a slight sneer. 

' " Why not ? " said Deronda, covering himsel£ He 
had really taken off the hat automatically, and if* he 
had been an ugly man ihight doubtless have done 
So with impunity : ugliness having natura,lly the 
air of involuntary exposuire, and beauty, of display! 

Gwendolen's confusiofa was soon inerged in the 
survey of the horses, which Grandcourt politely 
abstained from appraising, languidly assenting to 
Sir Hugo's alternate depredation and eulogy of the 
isame animal, as one thit he should not havfe bought 
when he was younger, and piqued himself on his 
horses, but yet ono that had better qualities than 
many more expensive brutes. 

^^The fact is, stables dive deeper and deeper into 
the pocket nowadays, and I am very glad to have 
got rid of that dSmangeaison*^ said Sir Hugo, as 
they were coming out.. 

"What is a man to do, though?" said Grand- 



BOOK Y. MORDECAI. 31 

court, i^ He must ride. I don't see -^hat else 
there is to do. And I don't call it riding to sit 
astride a set of brutes with every deformity under 
the sun." 

This delicate diplomatic way of characterising Sir 
Hugo's stud did not require direct notice ; and the 
baronet feeling that the conversation had worn rather 
thin, said to the party generally, " Now we are going 
to see the cloister — the finest bit of all — in perfect 
preservation: the monks might have been walking 
there yesterday." 

But Gwendoien had lingered behind to look at 
the kennelled -blood-houndg; perhaps because she 
felt a little- dispirited ; and «GraJndcourt waited for 
her. 

" You had better take my arm," he daid, i^i his 
low tone of command ; and she took it. 

" It'^ a great bore being dragged about in this 
wayj and no cigar," said Grandcourt. 

" I thought you would 'hke it." 

" like it !-^one eternal chatter. And encoxirag- 
ing' those ugly girls- — inviting one to meet" such 
monsters. How that Jht Deronda can bear looking 
at her^^— " 

o « Why do you call him si>fat f Do you object to 
Mm so much?" 

^* Object? no.' What do I care about his. being 
a fatf If 8 of no consequence to me. I'll invite 
him to Diplow again if you like*" 

"I don't think he would come. He is too clever 
and learned to care about us" said Gwendolen, 
thinking it useful for her husband to be told (pri- 



3,2 DANIEL DERONDA. 

vately) that it was possible for bim to be looked 
dowDt upon. . .' 

" I never saw that make much': differenoe in a 
man. Either he is a gentleman, or he is not," said 
Grandcourt. 

That a new husband and wife; should snatch a 
moment's tite-^-teie was what could be undier&tood 
■and indulged ; and the rest of the party left .theni 
in the fear till, re-entering the garden, they all 
paused in that cloistered court where, among the 
falling rose-petals thirteen years before, we saw a 
boy becoming acquainted with his first' sorrow. 
This cloister was^ built' of harder stone than the 
chutoh," and had been in greater 'Safety from the 
wearing weather. It was a rare example of a 
nortljiern cloister with arched and pillared openings 
not intended fbr glazing, and the delioafely-wrought 
foliage of the c&pitals seemed still to carry the very 
touches of the chisel. Gwendolen had dropped her 
husband's arm and joined the other ladies^ tb whom 
Deronda was noticing the. delicate. sense which had 
oombimed freedom with accuracy., in the imitatkwa 
of natural forms. ♦ ■. 

" I wonder whether one offcener learns to lore 
real objects through their repreeentaticins, or the 
representations through the real objects," he • said, 
after pointing out a ;loyely eapitaj made' by the 
curled leaves of greens, showing their letioulated 
under-side with the firm gradual swell of its central 
rib. " When I was a little fellow thei^e 6apitals 
taught me to observe, and delight in, iihe structure 
^^ leaves." 



BOOK V.-*4-MGRDECAT. 33 

" I sappobe you can see every line of them with 
yotir eyefe shut," said jT4iet Fenn. 

"Yes. I was always repeating them, because 
for a good many years this court stood for me as 
my only image of a convent, and whenever, I. read 
t(£ monk? and monasteries, this was idy scenery for 
Idiem." , 

" You> must love tl^is place very much," said Mies 
Fenn, innooenltly, not thinking of inheritance. " So 
many' homes are like twenty others. But this is 
unique, and you fieem to know every crctnny of it. I 
daxe6a>y you ei»uld never lave another home so well." 
'^^-Oh, I carry it with me/' said Deronda, quietly, 
being used to. : all possible thoughts of this kind, 
^f To most men their early home is no more than 
a memory of their early years, and I'm not sure 
but they have the best' of it. The image is never 
marred. There's no disappointment in memotyy>nd 
one's exaggerations are always on the good side.V 

Gwendolen felt sure that he spoke in" that way 
ont of delicacy to her .and Grandoourt — because he 
knew they must hear him; and' that he probably 
liiought of her as a'fielfisb creature who only cared 
about possessing things in her own person. But 
whatever he migb* say^ it must have been a secret 
hardship to him that afay circumstances of his birth 
had shut him out from the inheritance of his father's 
position ; and if he supposed that she exiilted in 
her husband's taking it, what could he feel for her 
but scornful pity? Indeed it seemed clear to her 
that he was avoiding her, and prefe&red talking to 
pthers — which nevertheless was not kind in him. 



34 DANIEL DERONDA. 

With these thoughts in her mind she was pre- 
vented by a mixture of pride and timidity from 
addressing him again, and wh^n they were . looking 
at the rows of quaint portraits in the gaflery above 
the cloisters, she kept up her air of interest and 
made her vivacious remarks without any direct 
appeal to Deronda. But at the end she was. very 
weary of lier assumed spirits, and las Grandcourt 
turned into the billiard-room, she went to the pretty 
boudoir which had been; assigned to her, and shut 
herself up to look melancholy at her ease, l^o 
chemical process shows a more wonderful activity 
than the transforming influence of the thoughts we 
imagine to be going on in another. Changes in 
theory, religion, admirations, may begin with a 
suspicion of dissent or disapproval, even when the 
grounds of disapproval are but matter of searching 
conjecture. 

Poor Gwendolen was conscious of an uneasy^ 
transforming process — all the: old nature shaiken 
to its depths, its hopes spoiled, its pleasures per- 
turbed, but stiU showing wholeness and strength 
in the will to reassert itsel£ After every new shock 
of humiliation she tried to adjust herself and seize 
her old supports — proud concealment, trust in new 
excitements that would make life go by without 
much thinking; trust in some deed of reparation 
to nullify her self- blame and shield her from a 
vague, ever-visiting dread of some horrible calam- 
ity; trust in the hardening effect of use and wont 
that would make her indifferent to her miseries. 

Yes— misefies. This beautiful, healthy young 



BOOK V^-^MOBDBGAI. 55 

creatQire, with her two- and -twenty years and her 
gftttiQed' ambition, no longer felt inclined to kiss 
her fortiinate image in the glass ; she looked at it 
with wonder that she could be so miserable. One 
belief which, had aceompanied her through her un» 
inarried life as a self-cajoling supeirstition, encouT'- 
aged by' the subordination of fevery one about her 
*— the belief in her own power of dominating-4was 
utterly gone. Already, in seven dhort weeks, which 
seemed half her life, ' her hiisbaad had gained a mas-* 
tery which she could no more resist than she could 
have resisted the benumbixtg effect from the touch of 
a torpedo. Gwendolen's will had seemed imperious 
in its small girlish sway ; but it was the will of a 
creature with a large discourse of imaginative fears : 
a shadow would, harve been enough to a'elax its hold. 
And she had found a will like that of a crab or a 
boa-constrictor which goes on pinching or crushing 
without alarm at thander. Not that Gh-andcourtt 
was without calculatibii of the intangible efiects 
which were the chief means of mastery ; indeed he 
had a surpriBiiig acutehess in detecting that situa- 
tion of feeling in Gweikdolen which made her proud 
and rebellious spirit dumb and helpless before him. 

She had burnt Lydia Glasher's letter with an 
instantaneous terror lest other eyes should see' it, 
and had tenaciously concealed from Grandcourt that 
there was 'any other cause of her violent hysterics 
than the eicit^ment and fetigue of the day : she 
had been mrg«d into an implied felsehood. " Don't 
ask me — it was my feeling about everything^- it 
was the sudden change fix)m home." The Vords of 



3(5 DANIEL DERONDA. ' 

iiiat letter kept repeating themselves, and hvmg on 
kei"' consciousness with the weight, of a prophotio 
doom; '^ I am the grave in which, your chance of 
happiness is buried as well as mine. : You Jaad your 
warning. You have chosen to injurel me and toy 
children. He had meant to marry m/e. He would 
have married me at last, if you had not broken your 
word. You will have your punishment. I deaird 
it witli all my souL i Will, you give him this letter 
to set him against' me and niin us morer-^meaiui 
iny children ? ■. Shall you Jifce to stand befei^e^ your 
husband with jthese diamonds on you, and the^e 
words of mine in his thoughts and yours ? Will he 
think' you have any right: to complain when he has 
made . you miserable ? . You took hini with your 
eyes open. The willing wrong you have dohe me 
will be your curise." 

The words had nestled their venomous life within 
her, and stirred continually the vision of the scene 
at the Whispering Stonesk That scene was now like 
an accusing apparition : she dreaded that Gxand- 
court should know of it — -so far out of her sight now 
was that possibility she had once satisfied herself 
with, of speaking to him. about Mrs Glaaher and 
her children, and making them rich amends. Any 
endurance seemed easier than the mortal humilia/- 
tion of confessing that she knew all before -she 
married him, and in marrying him had broken b^r 
word. For th6 reasons by which die had justified 
herself when the marriage tempted ber^mnd aU her 
easy airangement of her future power over her 
usbaztd to make him do better than he might be 



BOOK T. MORDBCAI. 37 

inolined to do, were now as fiitile as the burnt-out 
lights which set off a child's pageant. Her seiise 
of being blameworthy wa» eicaggerated by a dread 
both definite and vague. The definite dread, ^ael 
lest the veil of secrecy should faill between her and 
Grandcourt, and give him the right to taunt her. 
With th^ reading of thai letter had begUn' her hus- 
band's empire of fear. 

And her husband all the while knew it. He hod 
not, indeed, atiy distinct knowledge > of her brokefOi 
promise, and would not have rated highly! the effect 
of that breach on her conscienbe ; but he was aware 
not only of what Lmsh had told him about the meetr 
ingat the Whispering Stones, but also of Gwendolen's 
concealment as to the cause of her sudden illness:. 
He felt sure that Lydia had enclosed something; with 
the diamonds,' and that this something, whatever 
it was, had at once created in Gwendolen a he^ir 
repulsion for him and a reason for not daring to 
manifest it. He did not* greatly mind, or feel as 
many men might have felt, that his hopes in 
marriage were blighted: he had wanted to marry 
Gwendolen, and he was not a man to repent. Why 
should a gentleman whose other relations in -life are 
carried on without the luxury of sym^pailihetic feel- 
ing, be supposed to require that kind of condiment 
in domestic life ? What he chiefly felt was that a 
change had come over the conditions of his mas- 
tery, which, far from shaking it, might establish it 
<die more thoroughly. And it was estaWished. . He 
Judged that he had not mamed a edmpleton unable 
to perceive the impossibility of escape, or to see 



38 DANIEL DEEONDA. 

alternative evils : he had married . a girl who had 
spirit and pride enough not to make a fool of he?c$elf 
by forfeiting all the advantages of a position which 
had attracted her ; and if she wanted pregnant hints 
to help her in making np her -mind properly, he 
would take care not to withhold them. 

Gwendolen, indeed, with all that gnawing trou- 
ble in her consciousness, had hardly for a. moment 
dropped the sense that it was her piart to bear 
herself tmth dignity, and appear wha,t is called 
happy. In disclosure of disappointment- or sorrow 
she. saw nothing but a humiliation which would 
have been vinegar to her wounds. Whatever her 
husband might come at last to be to her, she meant 
to wear the yoke so as not to be pitied. For she 
did think of the coming years with presentimient : 
she was fright^ened at Grandcourt The poor thing 
had passed from her girlish sauciness of superiority 
over this inert specimen of personal distinction into 
an amazed perception of her former ignorance about 
the possible ■ mental attitude of a man towards the 
woman he sought in marriage — of her present igno- 
rance as to what their life with each other might turn 
into. For novelty gives immeasurableness to fear, 
and fills the early time of all sad changes with phan- 
toms of the future. Her little coquetries, voluntary 
or involuntary, had told on Grandcourt during court- 
ship, and formed a medium of communication be- 
tween them, showing him in the hght of a creature 
such as she could understand and manage : but 
marriage had nullified all such interchange, and 

^ndcourt had become a blank uncertainty to her 



BOOK V. MOJBtDECAL 39 

in everything but this, that he would do just what 
he willed^ and that she had neither devices at her 
command to determine hm will, nor any rational 
means of escaping it. 

What had occurred between them about her wear- 
ing the diamonds was typical. One evening, shortly 
before they came to the Abbey, they were going to 
dine at Brackenshaw Castle. Gwendolen had, said 
to herself that she would never wear those diamonds: 
they had horrible words dinging and crawlixkg about 
them, as from some bad dream, whose images lin- 
gered on the perturbed sense. She came down 
dressed in her white, with only a streak of gold 
and a pendant of emeralds, which Grandcourt had 
given her, round her neck, and. little emerald stars 
in her ears. 

Grandcourt stood with his back to the fire and 
looked at her as she entered. 

" Am I altogether as you like ? " she said, speak- 
ing rather gaily. She was not without enjoyment 
in this occasion of going to Brackenshaw Castle 
with her new dignities upon her, as men whose 
af^tirs are sadly involved will esgoy dining out 
among persons likely to be under a pleaaant mis- 
take about them. 

"No," said Grandcourt. 

Gwiandolen felt suddenly uncomfortable, wonder- 
ing what was to come. She was not unpr^)ared for 
some struggle about the diamonds; but suppose 
he were going to say, in low contemptuous tohes, 
"You are not in any way what I like." It was 
very bad for her to be secretly hating him ; but it 



40 * DANIEL DERONDA. 

would be much worse when he gave the first sign 
of hating her. 

*< Oh, mercy ! " she exclaimed, the patise lasting 
till she could bear it no longer. "How am I to 
alter myself?" 

" Put on the diamonds/' 6«^id Gtandcourt, looking 
straight at her with his narrow glance. 

Gwendolen paused in h^r turn, afraid of showing 
any emotion, and feeling that nevertiieless there 
was some change in her eyes as they met Wft* 
But she was obliged to answer, and said as indif- 
ferently as she could, " Oh, please not. I don't 
think diainonds suit me." 

" What you think has nothing to do with it," said 
GrandcoTMrt, his soUo voce imperiousness seeming to 
have an evening quietude and finish, like his toiletl 
" I wish you to wear the diamonds." 

" Pray excuse me ; I like these emeraliis,'' said 
Gwendolen, frightened in §pite of her preparation. 
That white hand of his which was touching his 
whisker was capable, she fancied, of clinging round 
her neck and threatening to throttle her; for her 
fear of hiin, mingling with the vague foreboding of 
some relaibuti^se calaimity which hung about her 
life, had reached a superstitious poini 

" Oblige me by telling me your reason for not 
wearing the diamonds when I desire it," said 
Gtandcourt His eyes were still fixed upon her, 
and she felt heir own eyes narrowing under them 
as if to shut out an entering pain. 

Of what use was the rebellion within her? She 
ould say nothing that would not hurt her worse 



BOOK v.— MOKDfiCAI. 41 

than STibmisBion. Turning elowly and ooTering 
herself again, she went to her dressing -roomi As 
she reached ont the diamonds it ocotored to her 
that her nnwiUingness to wear them might lidve 
abeady raised a suspicion in Grandeourt that shd 
had some knowledge abooxt them which he had 
BO* given her. She faaoi^d that' his eyes showed 
a- delight in torturing her. How oould she* be 
defiant? She had nothing 'to> say that would 
touch him — nothing but what would give him 
a more painful grasp on her consciousness. 

"He delights in making the dogs and hordes 
quail: that is half his pleasiire in calling them 
his," she said to herself, as she opeined the jewel- 
oafie with a shivering sensation. " It will come 
to be so with me ; and I shall quail. What elsfe 
is there for me? I will not say to the world, 
'Pity me.*" 

She was about to ring for her maid when ^he 
heard the door open behind her. It was Grand- 
OotETt who came in. ' ' 

"You want some one to fasten them," he said, 
coming towards her. 

She did not answer, but simply stood still, leisiv- 
ing him to take out the ornaments and fasten them 
as he would. Doubtless he had been used to fasten 
th^n on some one else. With a bitter sort of sarcasm 
against herself, Gwendolen thought, " What a privi- 
lege this' is, to have robbed another woman of I *^ 

"What makes you so cold?" said Grandoourt, 
when he had fastened the last ear-ring. "Pray 
put plenty of furs on. • I hate to see a woman come 



42 DANIEL DERONDA. 

into a room looking frozen. If yon are to appear 
as a bride at all, appeal: decently." i 

This marittal speech was not exactly persuasive, 
but, it touched the quick of Gwendolen's pride and 
forced her to rally. The words of the bad (dream 
crawled about the diamondfi still, but only for her : 
to others they were brilliants that suited her per- 
fectly, and- Grandcourt. inwardly observed that she 
answered to the rein. 

" Oh yes, mamma, quite happy,*' Gwendolen had 
said on her return to Diplow. "Not. at all dia- 
appointdd in Ryelands. It is a much finer place 
than this ~T larger in every w^y. But don't you 
want some more money?". 

" Did you not know that Mr Grandcourt left me 
a letter on your wedding-day ? I am to have eight 
hundred aryear. He wishes me to keep Offendene 
for the present, while you are at Diplow. . But if 
there were some pretty cottage near the park at 
Ryelands we might liv^ there without much ex^- 
pense, and I should have you most of the year, 



" We must leave that to Mr Grandcourt, mamma." 
"Oh, certainly. It is exceedingly handsome of 
him to say that he will pay the rent for Offendene 
till June. And we can go on very well — without 
any man-servant except Crane, just for out of doors. 
Our good Merry will stay with us and help me to 
manage everything. It is natural that Mr Grand- 
court should' wish me to live in a good style of 
house in your neighbourhood, and I cannot decline. 
*^^ he said nothing about it to you?" 



BOOK v.— ^MORDBCAI. 43 

^*N©; lie wished me to heax it fix)m you, I 'Ewip- 
pose." 

Gwendolen in fact had been very anxious to, have 
some definiiie knowledge of what would be' done. for 
her mother, bnt at no moment since' her matriiage 
had she been. able to overcome the difficulty 6f 
mentioning' the snbject to Grandoourt. Naw,!h<>w- 
ever, she had a sense of obligation which would not 
let her rest withcmt saying lo him, " It is very- good 
of you to provide for mamma. You took, a great 
deal on yourself in marrying a girl who had nothing 
but relations belonging to :her." 

. Grandcourt was smoking, and only said oarelessiy, 
"Of course I was not going to let her live like a 
gamekeeper's mother." 

" At least he is not mean about money," thought 
G-wendolen, "and mamn^ is the better off for my 
mai^riage.". 

^e often pursued the comparison between what 
might have been, if she had not married Grand- 
eourt, aiid what actually was, trying to persuade 
herself that life, generally was barren of satisfaction, 
and that if she had chosen differently she might 
now have been looking back with a regret as bitter 
as the feeling she was trying to argue away. Her 
mother's dulness, which used to irritate her, sh^ 
was at present inclined to explain as the ordinary 
result of women's experience. True, she still saw 
that she would " manage diffferently from mamma } " 
but her management now ooly meant that she would 
carry her troubles with spirit, and let none suspect 
them. By-and-by she promised herself that she 



44 DANIEL DERONDA.; 

skould get used to her heart-eores,' anid find excite- 
ments that would carry ber through life, as a .hard 
gallop carried her through floitoe of the morning 
hours; There was gambling : she had heard Btories 
at. Leubronn of fashionable wom^n who gambled in 
all soiiS' of ways. It seemed very flat to her at this 
distance, but perhaps if sh^ begaii to gamble again, 
the passion might awiake. Then there was the 
pleasure of producing an effect by her i^earance 
ta society : what did celebrated beauties do in town 
when their husbands could afford display ? All men 
were fascinated by them': they had a perfect equi- 
page land toilet, . walked into public places, and 
bowed, and made the usual answers, and walked 
out again : perhaps they bought china, and prao* 
tised accomplishments. If ^he dould only fbel a 
keen appetite for those pleasures — could only be- 
lieve in pleasure as she used to do I Accomplish* 
ments had ©eased to have the exciting quality of 
promising any pre-eminence to her; and as for 
fascinated gentlemen -r— adorers who might hover 
round her with languishment, and diversify married 
life with tlie romantic stkr o£ mystery, passion, and 
danger which her Fr^ioh reading had given her 
some girhflh notion of—^they presented themselves 
to' her imagination with the fatal circumstance that, 
instead of fascinating her in return, they were dad 
in her own weariness and disgust. The adniiring 
male, rashly adjusting the expression of his features 
and the turn of his conversatidn to her supposed 
tasteS) had always been an absurd object to her, 
^d at pres^it seemed rather detestable. Many 



BOOK Vj-r-MOKDBGAI. 45 

GOQrEresp'.are actually pursued-- folties and /«ins botia 
conyeiiiient and iiicDziv6ment--r.withoii1i pleatiare of 
hope 'of pleasnrdf butt to solaxse omrselveia witb 
imagining any course beforehiind, tlfere must bo 
flomefoietaBte of pleasure in the shaj^e of appetite; 
and* Gwtendden's : appetite had . fliokened. I«et her 
wander over the posgibilities of liter life' as she 
would^ an imcettain shaddw doggi9d lior. Her oon- 
fidencse in h«rself and her dteatiny had tuwaed into 
remorse and. dread ; she trusted neither herself juor 
hiir future. 

• This hidden helplessness gave fresh force to the 
hold Deronda had fw>m the fir^t takeii on her mind, 
as one who .had an unknown standard by which he 
judged her. Had he some way of looking at things 
which might be a laew footing, for. her-r-an inward 
safeglLard against possible eTen.t8 which &he dreaded 
jEis stored-!^ retribution:? Ifi&.onfe of the secrets 
in thptt change of mental poise which has bepn fitly 
named conversion, that to many among us neither 
heaven nor earth has any revelation till some per- 
sonality touches theirs with a peculiar influence, 
subduing them into receptiveness. It had been 
Gwendolen's habit to think of the persons around 
her as stale books, too fkmiliar to be interesting. 
Deronda had lit up her attention with a sense of 
novelty: not by words only, but by imagined facts, 
his influence had entered into the current of that 
self-suspicion and self-blame which awakens a new 
consciousness. 

" I wish he could know everything about me 
without my telling him," was one of her thoughts, 



46 -DANIEL DBEONDA... 

at^ she sat leaning over the end of a couch^sapporfc* 
mg her head with her hand, and looking at herself 
in a mirror — ^not in admiration^ bnt.in a sad kind of 
companionship. ^* I wish he knew that I am net 
so contemptible as he thinks me+*-that* I am in 
deep ttoTible, arid^-want to be something belteir if 
i ootdd." Without the aid of sacred ceremony or 
cOfftume, her feelings had turned -this many only a 
•few years older than herself, into a priest; a sort 
of trust less rare than the fidehty that guards it* 
Young reverence for one who is also young id the 
most coercive of all:: there is the same leveV of 
temptation, and the higher motive is believed in as 
a ftiller force — not suspected to be a inere residue 
from weary experience. 

But the coercion is often stronger on th«' one who 
takes the reverence. Those who trust us educate 
us. And perhaps in that ideal consecration of 
Gwendolen's, soine educatioti was being prepared 
for D^ronda. ' 



47 



CHAPTER XXXVI 



*'Rien ne p6se tant qu'iip secret, 
Le porter loin est difl9cil& aux damM : 
Et je sQais mesme sur ce fait 
Bon nombre d'hommes qui sont femmes." 



Meanwhile D^roada iwwi been, featened and led off 
by Mr Vandemoodt, who wiehed for a brisker walk^ 
a oig£^r, and a little gossip. Since we cajinot tell 
a man bis own secrete, the restraint of bei^g in bis 
company ofteA breeds a desire to pair* off. in* con- 
versation with some more ignorant person, and Mt 
Viuidemoodt presently , said — 

" What a washed-out piece of cambric Grandcourt 
is I But if he is a. favourite of yours, I withdraw 
the remark." 

." Not the leswt in the wprJd?" ^a^d Deronda. 

"I thought not. One wewiders how he. came to 
have a great poasion again ; and he must hare had 
— rto marry in jthis way.! Though Lush, his old chum, 
hints that he married this girl out of obstinacy. By 
Gneorge ! it was a very accountable obstipaey* A 
man might make up his mind to marry her without 
the stimulus of contradiction. But he must have 
made himself a pretty large drain of money, eh?" 



48 DANIEL DERONDA. 

" I know nothing of his affairs." 

" What ! not of the other establishment he keeps 
up?" ^ 

" Diplow ? Of course. He took that of Sir Hugo. 
But merely for the year." 

" No, no : not Diplow : Gadsmere. Sir Hugo 
knows, Fir anpwer for it." 

Deronda said nothing. He really began to feel 
some curiosity, but he foresaw that he should hear 
what Mr Vandemoodt had to tell, without the con- 
descension of asking. 

" Lush would not altogether own to it, of course. 
He^s a confidant and go-between of Grrandcourt's. 
Btt I have it on the best authority. The foot is, 
there^s another lady with four children at Gadsmere. 
She has had the upper hand of him these ten yeaFS 
and more, and by what I can understand has it still 
— left her husband for him, and used to travel with 
him everywhere. Her husband's dead now : I foimd 
a fellow who was in the same regiment with him, 
and kn^w this Mrs Glasher before dhe took wing. 
A fiery dark-eyed woman — a noted beauty at that 
time — he thought she was dead. They say she has 
Grandcourt unde* her thumb still, and it's a wonder 
he didn't marry her, for there*s a very fine boy, and 
I understand Grandooitrt can do absdlutdly as he 
pleases 'with the estates. Lush told me as much 
as that." '•' 

"What right had he to marry this girl?" said 
Deronda, with disgust. 

Mr Vandemoodt, adjusting the eiid of his cigar, 
««hrugged his shoulders and put out his lips. 



BOOK V.-r^MORDECAI. 49 

" Ske can know nothing of it," «aid Deronda*, 
emphatically. But &at positive, statement was im- 
media^^elj followed by an inward query — ^* Could 
fihe have known anything of it?" 
. .^^It's rather a piquant picture," said Mr Vaaderr 
noodt — '" Ghrandoourt between two fiery women. For 
depend upoti it this light>*haired one haus plenty of 
devil in her, I formed that opinion of her at Leu^ 
bronn. It's a sort of Medea and Creusa business. 
Fancy the two meeting I Ghraodooujt m a new Mtid 
of JaaOB : I wonder what sort of a part hfe'U make 
of it It's a dog's part at best I think I heat 
Bitatori noiv, saying,. ^J;aeone.I Ja«one T These fcie 
women generally get hold of a stick." 

" Grandcoiirt can bite, I fancy," «aid DerondsU 
"He is no stiot." 

"No, no; I meant JasouL I can't quite make 
out Grandcourt. But he's a keen fellow enough-jr 
uncommcmly well bialt too. And if he comes, into 
^1 this property, the e$tates will bear dividing. 
This girl, wliose inends had com6 to beggary, I 
understand, may think herself lucky to get him* 
I don't want to be hard oh a man because he gets 
involved in. an affeir of that sort. But he might 
make himself Dliore agreeable. I was telling hitp 
a capital story last night, and he got up and walked 
away in the middle. I felt indlimed to kick him. 
Do you suppose that is inattention or insoleaice, 
now?" ^ . V 

" Oh, a mixture. He generally observes the form« ; 
but he doestft listen much,? said Dercinda." Then, 
after a moment's pause, he went on, " I should itWnk 



50 DANIEL DEBONDA. ^ 

tiiere must be some exaggfetation or inaccuracy in 
what you hm^ heard about this IfitSy at Gadsmere." 

" Not a bit, depend upon it; it had- all lain snug of 
late years. People have forgotten all about it. But 
there the nest is, and the bird® are in it. And I kttow 
Q-randoourt goes there. I have good evidence that 
he goes there. However, that's nobocfy's bbsiness 
but his own. The affiiir has sunk below the surfece;" 

^^ I wcinder you could have learned so much about 
{t,'^ said DerondaJ, rither drily. 

' • *^Oh,i there ate plenty of people Who knew all abotit 
ii; but such stories get piwoked away l&e old let- 
t^. Th6y interfest me. I like to know themannerik 
of my time — contemporary gossip, not antedihivian. 
These Dryasdust fellows get a reputation • by raiking 
up some small scandal about Semiramis or Nttodifis, 
arid then we have a thousand and one poems written 
upon- it by all the warblers big and little. But I 
don't cai*e a stilaw about the ^^tux pas of the miffln- 
mifes: You do, though. You are one of the histori- 
cal men — ^more interested in a lady when she's got 
a rag face and skeleton toes peeping out., Does that 
flatter your imagination ? " ' • 

' ^^Well, if she bad any woes in her iove,^one has 
the satisfat5tion of knowing that she'ri well out of 
them.*' . . . i 

• ** Ah, you are ihinking of the Medea, I see." 

Deronda then chose to point to son^e giant oaks 
worth looking at in their bareness. He also felt an 
interest in this piece of contemporary gossip, but he 
was satisfied that Mr Van^iemoodt had no moi-e to 
teU about it. . ■ 



BOOK V. MORDBCJLI. 51 

Since the early days when he trred to ootistmct 
the hidden story of his own birthj his mind had per^ 
haps never been so active in weaving proibabilitieB 
ab6at any private affair as it had iiow begtm to Hb© 
abontf Owendolen^s marriage.. - This nnavowed :i»la- 
tion of GrandcDrnt'Sy-^-coidd she have, g&ijled some 
kilLOwledgie of it j which caused hereto' shrink from 
the ^ match — a shirinfcing finally overcome by i the 
nr^enoe of poverty ?» He ooald i-ecall ahoabst. eveiiy 
word she had said to him, and in certain of these 
words he seemed to discern that she was cbnbeious 
(^ having done some wrpng— infldoted iswne injiiry. 
His own acute experience malde him alive to the 
form: of injury which might 'affect the unaWwed' chil*- 
dren and their mother. Was Mr* Grahdcourt, undex 
all heir determined show of satisfaction, gnawed by 
a double, a trieblef-headed grief— *self-reproach, diaap^ 
pointmenft, jealousy ? He dwelt especially on all the 
slight signs of self-reproach: he was inclined to» judge 
her tenderly^io excuse, t© pity. He lihought He had 
found a key now by which to interpret her mbre 
clearly? what' magnifying of her misery might not 
a young dreature ^et into who had wedded her fresh 
hopclfi' to old secrets I He thought he saw clearly 
etiough now why Sir Hugo had never dropped any 
hint of this affiwrto him; and immediately. the image 
of thii5 Mrs Glasher became painfully associated with 
his o^ hidden birth. Gwendolen knowing of that 
woman and heir children, marrying Grandcourt, aind 
showing heirself contented, 'would have been amon^ 
the mcst repulsive of beings to him ; but Gwendolen 
tasting the bitterness of remorse ibr having contri- 



52 DANIEL DEBONDA. 

buted; to their raijiiry was brouglat very near to- his 
fellow-feeling. If it were «o, she had got to !a com- 
mon plane pf understanding with him on some (liffi-* 
cnlties of life which a woman is rarely able.to. jadge 
of with any justice or geaeirosity; for, according to 
prooedentj I Gwendolen's view of her position anight 
easily have been no other than 'that herhiieband^d 
miurriage with her was his entrance on the $wbth of 
virtue,. while Mrs Glasher represented bis forsaken 
&in. And Deronda Jiad ,naturally some reeelntment 
on behalf of the Hagars and Ishmaels, ' ; 
. Uiadeniably Deronda'a:. growing solieitu^fc' about 
Gwendolen depended chiefly on her peculiar -maid- 
ner towards him y and I suppose neither man. nor 
woman would be the better for an uttec insensibility 
to such appeals. One sign that his interest in hei: 
had ohaAiged its footing was that he dismissed any 
caution agaihst her being a coquette seittinig.snaires 
to 'inyolve hitn in a vulgar fiirtatiori, and deti9riiain6d 
thait he would not again evade any ^opportunity of 
talking with her. He had shaken off Mr Vander- 
noodt, ajad got into a solitary corner in the twilight ; 
but half an hour was long enough to think of those 
possibilities in Gwendolen's |)osition and state of 
mind; and on forming the- determination not t9 
avoid hi^r, he remembered that she was likely tci.b^ 
dt tea with the other ladies in the dTawit)g-*?oom* 
The conjecture was true; for Gwendofen, after reh 
Bolving not to go down again for thd next foiv 
hours, began to feel, at the end of one, that in shut- 
ting herself up she missed all chances of seeing and 
hearing, and that her visit would only last two days 



BOOK V. MORDtlCAI. 53 

more, fehe adjusted herself, put on her little air of 
self^poBses^on, aiid going down, made herself reso- 
lutely agreeable. Only ladies were assembled, and 
Lady Pentreath was' amusing them with a descrip- 
tion of a drawing-rooltti under the Reg«ney,'and the 
figure that was cut by ladies anft gentlemen in? 
1819, the yeaf- she was prtssented-^when Derouda 
entered. 

"Shall I be acceptable?*' he said. "Perhaps I 
had better go bfcck arfd look for the others. I sup- 
pose they are in the billiard*room." 

"No, no; stay where you are," said Lady Pen. 
treath. "They were all getting tired of me; let 
us hear iwhat ymi haTe to say*" 

**That is rather an embarrassing appeal,*' said 
Deronda, drawing up a chair near Lady Mallinger's 
elbow at the tea-table. " I think I had better take 
the opportunity of mentioning our songstress," he 
added, looking at Lady Mallinger, — -^^ unless you 
hav€^ done so." " 

"Oh, the little Jewess!" said Lady Mallinger; 
"No, I have not mentioned her. It never entered 
my head that any one here wanted singing lessons." 

**'AI1 ladies iinow some one else who wants sing- 
ing lessons," said Deronda. **I have happened to 
find an exquisite singer ; "-^here he turned to Lady 
Pentreath. "She is living with some ladies who 
are fiiends of mine^-the mother and sisters of a 
man who was my chiim at Cambridge. She was 
on the stage at Vienna ; but she wants to leave 
that life, and maintain h^self by teaohing.'* 

•" There are swarms of those people, aren't there?" 



54r DANIEL DERQNPA. . 

aaid the old lady. " Are her lessotis to be very 
cheap or very expensive ? Those are the two baits 
I know of." 

" There is another bait for tho^e who hear her," 
said Beronda. " Her singing is something j quite 
eixceptional, I think. , She has. had . such first-rate 
teaching — or rather first - rate inptinct wii^h her 
teaching — that you might imagine her singing 
all came by nature." 

"Why did she leave the stage, then?" said Lady 
Pentreath. "I'm too old to believe in ^st- rate 
people giving up first-rate chances." , 

" Her voice was too weak. It is a delicious voice 
for a room. You who put up with my singing of 
Schubert would be enchanted with hers," said^ De- 
rbnda, looking at Mrs Raymond- "And :I im^^jbe 
she would not ol^jeot to $ing at private . parties or 
concerts. Her voice is quite equal to tJiat." 
I "I am to have her in my drawing-room when we 
go up to town," said Lady MaUinger. " You shall 
hear her then. I have not heard her myself yet ; 
but I trust Baniers recommendatipn, I mean .my 
girls to h^-ve lessons of }ier.'' 

" Is it a charitable affair ? " said Lady Pentreath. 
" I can't bear cha:ifitable music." 

• Lidy MaUinger, who was rather helpless in con- 
versation, and felt herself \inder an engagement not 
to tell anything of Mirah's story, had an embarrassed 
smile on her face, and glanced at Deronda. 

" It is a charity to those who want to have a good 
model of feminine singing," said Deiron^a. " I think 
everybody who has ears would benefit by a little im- 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 55 

provement on the ordinaiy style. If you heard 'Miss 
Lapidoth" — here he looked at Gwendolen— ^" per- 
haps you would revoke your resolution to give up 
singing." 

" I should rather think my resolution would be con- 
firmed/' said Gwendolen. ** I don't feel able to follow 
your advice of enjoying my own middlingness." 

**For my part," said Deronda, "people who do 
anything finely always inspirit me to try. I don't 
mean that they make me believe I can do it as well. 
But they- make the thing, whatever it may be, seem 
worthy to be done. I can bear to think my own 
music not good for much, but the world would be 
more dismal if I thought inuflic itself not good for 
much. Excellence encourages one about life gen- 
erally; it shows the spirituals Wealth of the world." 

" But then if we can't imitate it ?- — it only makes 
our own life seeto the tamer," said Gwendolen, in. a 
mood to resent encouragement founded on her own 
insignificanoe. 

" That depends on the point of view, I think," 
said Deronda. "We should have a poor life of it 
if we were ^reduced for ail our pleasure to our own 
performances. A little private imitation of wjwit is 
good is a sort of private devotion to it, and most of 
us ought to practise art only in the light of private 
study — preparation to understand and enjoy what 
the few can do for us. I think Miss Lapidoth is 
one of the few." 

" She must be a very happy person, don't . you 
think?" said Gwendolen, with a touch of sarcasm, 
and a turn of her neck towards Mrs Raymond. 



56 . DANIPL DERONDA. 

"I don't know," answered the independent lady; 
" I must hear more of her before I said that" 

" It may have been a bitter disappointnient to her 
that her voice failed her for the stage," said Juliet 
Fenn, sytopathetioaJly. 

, " I suppose she's past her bfest, though," said the 
deep yoice of Leldy Pentreath. 

" On the contrary, she has not reached it," said 
Deronda. . " She is barely twenty," 

"And very pretty," interposed Lady Mallinger, 
with an amiable wish to help Deronda. " And 
she hds very good manners, Tm eoriy she is a 
bigoted Jewess ; I should not like it for anything 
else, but it doesn't matter in- singing." 

" Well, since her voice is too weak for her to 
soridam much, I'll tell Lady Clementina to set her 
on my nine granddaughters," said Lady Pentreath ; 
" arid I hope she'll convince eight of them that they 
have not voice endugh to sing anywhere but at 
church. My notion is, that many of our girk now- 
adays want lessons not to sing»" 

*^ I have had my lessons in that," said Gwendolen, 
looking at Deronda* " Y<)u see Lady Pentreath it 
on Boiy- Side." : . ■ 

While she. was speaking, Sir Hugo entered 'with 
some of the other gentlemen, including Grandcourt, 
and «tan4ing against the group at the low tea^ble 
said — 

"What imposition is Deronda putting on you 
ladi^a-^slipping in among you by himself?" 

" Wanting to pass off am obscurity, on us as better 
tharii any celebrity," said Lady Pentreath—" a pretty 



BOOK V. MOKDBGAI. 67 

suigiiig Jewess who • U' . t6 2>Bt6iush ( these yotmg 
people. You and I,^ wbo heard, Gatabmi in ^ hear 
prime, are not ^o eaailj astonished.'' 
. Six H\igQ listened with his good^humonted sizdle 
as he took a cup of tea fnooai his wife, iuaad then said, 
" Well^you know, a literal is <bound lb thaaak'.that 
there have been singers since Oatalanfs time.'' 1 

" Ah, yon are younger, than il am. I datresay you 
are onei olf the neied who ran after Alcli£^risi« * But she 
married off and left yon all iii the lurch*" 

" Yes, yes ; it's rather too bad when these grafit 
singers marry themeelyes ifato silence^ before Ithey 
have, a cmck iii th^ voices. ■ And the htL^band is ti 
public robbeiL ,1 retoeaobeE Ldroux saying, ^ A man 
might as well take down a fine peal of church beiUs 
and canry them. off. to the steppes)' ." said Sir Hugo, 
setting down his cup , and tuhiing » aWayy while 
DeTond% t^ho had moved from his plade to make 
room foif Qthens, and felt that he was not in request, 
sat down a little srpart* : Presently he becdme aware 
tbat^ in the general dispersion of the group, Gwen^ 
dolen had extricated herself frotm tibe attentions of 
Mr Vandemoodt and had walked to the piano,.where 
she gtood apparently: examining the music which 
Jay on .the desk. Will any. one be surpriiseid at 
Deronda's ieoocluding. that tiie wished him; to/ join 
her ? Perhaps she wanted to make amends: fer the 
unpl^ssgcit tone of resistance with which she had 
met his recommendation of Mittih, for he h^ noticed 
that her first itnpulse often was to say what she 
afketwairds wished, tov retract. He went to her side 
tkjQbd said-^ ' 

VOL. II. C 



58 DAmBU' DBRONDA. ' 

: [.^ Are yod; relenting, atou* the music arid looking 
fori somelhiibi^ itd play or siikg ? " • 

" I am not lobking for anything^ but I mn relent- 
ing/* said Gwendolen, speaking in a submissive tone. 

;** May- 1 know the reason?" • ' ^ 

(^'I 'should' like to hekr; Miss Lapiddth a^d have 
lessons from /her, sin6e you admire her- so nludi^*-- 
that is, of <;6urse, When we* go < to town. . I mean 
lefefions. in' rejoicing at her excelleace • and my own 
deficiency," said Gwendolen, turning on him a sweet 
opeooii smil^; .•'•,•■••.!•.*..> 

"I shall be really glad for you to^se© and hear 
her/!. said 'Deronday riBtuming the smile in kind. • 

."l6 she as perfect im eveirything elise as- in her 
mhaslic!?"! ; • •• . ■' : •• • > ■'>i ■ / ■ • 

"I: can't Vouch for tlfiafe exactly.' I ■ have .not sben 
endugh of her. But I have aeeri' nothing in- he* 
that J douldwish to be different Bbe has 'had an 
unha5)py life. Her troubles began^in early child- 
hood, and she has grown up among very painful 
surroundings. But I think you will pay 'that no 
advantages could have given her more- grace and 
truer/ refinement" . ; • . ! I 

■ "I wonder what sort of troubles hers were?" 

'*I have not any Teiy precise knowledge. But I 
know. that' shfe wajson the brink of drowning herself 
in !des|)air." . s ' 

*^And What hindered hOT?''- said < Gwendolen, 
ijuickly,] looking at Deronda* 

*^Soriie ray or other rcaik&e-^whioh made 'her feel 
that she otight to live— that it was good to live,'- 
he answered, quietly. " She is fiill of piety, and 



BOOK V.--*MORDBCAI. 09 

»eems oapabSiO of submitting to ainythmg when it 
takes the form of duty 4" 

" Those people f are • not to be pitied," said (rwen- 
dblen, impatiently. "I have no sjrmpathy with 
women who aare alwaya doing right. I don't be- 
lieve in their gifeat anflPerings*" Her fingem moved 
quickly among, the edges of the music. . , 

" It is true," said Deronda^ " that the eonscioiis- 
ness of having d6ne wxong is something deeper, 
more bitter. I suppose we ■ faulty creatures can 
never feel so much for the irreproachable as for 
thotfe who are bruised in the struggle with their 
own faults. It is a very ancient story, that of the 
lost sheep— but it comes [up afresh every: day-" 

" That is a way of speaking — it is noi; aeted on, 
it is not i*eal," said Gwend6len, bitterly* **You 
admire Miss Lapidoth because you think her blame- 
less, perfect. And ydtt know, you would despise a 
Woman who had done something you thought very 
wrong." 

" That would depend entirely on her own : view 
of what she had done," said Dejconda. , 

" You would be satisfied if she were very wisetchi 
edj I suppose?" said Gwendolen, impetuously* 

" No, not datisfied-^fttll of sow;6w for her. ilt was 
not . a mierfe way of speaking. I did not mean- to 
say that Ijie finelr nature is not -more adorably; I 
meant that those who would be oompamtivelly unjpL- 
terefifting beforehand may become worthier ^ syn»- 
^thy when they^ d6 something .that a Wakens, in 
th^m a keen rfemtJr^*; Lives are etolarged in dif- 
ferent ways. I daresay some wotilA never get their 



00 DANIEL DERONDA. 

eyefll opened if it were not for: a violent- shock from 
the consequences of their owh actiome* And wiien 
they are suffering in that w&y- one m^st cfire for ifhem 
niore than fpr the comfortably self-«ati»ii^d." Deroridk 
fot^ot everything but his vision of what Gwendolen's 
experience had probably been^ and tirged by com- 
passion let his eyes and voice eicprees as . miioh 
interest as they would. 

/' <3rwtodolen had slipped on. to the musio4t6ol, and 
looked up at him with pain in her long eyes, like 
a wounded animal asking help^ 

*^Are you persfiiading Mrs Gi^andcourt to play to 
ue, Dan ? •* said Sir Hugo, coming up and putting 
his hand .on Deronda'si ehouider witb a gentle ad- 
monitopjr pinch. 

•^^I cannot persuade myself'' said . Gwendolen^ 
rising. •.•,.'..., 

Others had followed Sill Hugo's lead, and there 
was an end of any liability to confidences for that 
day. But the next was New Year's Eve ; and a 
grand dance, tx) which the chief tenants were intited, 
was to be held in the picture-gallery above the 
cloister— the sort of entertainment in which numbers 
and general movement may create privacy. When 
Gwendolen was dressing, she longed, in remem- 
brance of Leubronn, tp put on the old turquoise 
necklace for her sole ornament-; but she dared not 
offend her husband by appearing in that shabby 
way 6n an occasion when he' would demand her 
utmost splendour. -Determined 'to wear the memorial 
necklace somehow, she wound it thrice round her 
wrist and made a brsicelet of it — having gone to her 



BOOK V.-T— MORDBCAI. 61 

room to pnt it on just belor^ the time of entering 
the ball-room.. t: 

It was always a beautifiil scene^ thift dance on 
New Year'^ Eve, .which bad been kept up by feanify 
tzadition as nearly in this old faahiom as iifcexorable 
change would allow. Bed carpet wus laid down 
fiar the occasion; hothouse plants and evergreens 
were aarranged In bowerij at: the extremities and in 
every recess of; the gallery 5 and the old portraits 
stretching back through generations t even to the 
pre-portrayin^ period, made a piquant line of specta^ 
tears. Some neighbouring gentry, major and minoi:, 
were invited ; and.it. was certdbinly an occasicm when 
a prospective master and mistress of Abbotts anid 
King's Topping might see their future glory in an 
agreeable li^t^ as a picturesque provincial suptrem^ 
9cy. mth a neat-roil personified by the most pros* 
perous-looking tenants. Sir Hugo expected GraundA 
court to feel flattered by being asked to th6 Abbey 
at a time which included thi^ festival in honour io£ 
the family estate ; but he also hoped that 'his -own 
hale appearance might in^^fts his sudcessot with 
the pirobabld length of time that would elapi^ before 
the sucoeasion oame^ and with, the wisdom of pre* 
ferring a good actual lsum> to a minor property that 
must be waited for. All present', down to the least 
important farmerls daughter, knew that thtty. were 
to see " young Grandoourb," Sir Hugcfs nephewj the 
presumptive heiii and futare baronet, now visiting 
the Abbey with hisbrid&'after an absenoe of many 
years; any coolness between undle- and nephew 
havijBtgy it was understood, given way to a friendly 



6^ BANIBL DERONDA. 

warmth. The bride opening the ball with Sir Hugo 
was necessarily the cynosure of all eyes ; and less 
than a year before, if some magic mirror could have 
shown Gwendolen her actual position, she would 
have imagined herself moving in it with a glow of 
triumphant pleasure; conscious that she held in her 
hands a /life full of favoumble chances which her 
clevemess and spirit would enable her to make the 
best of. And now she was wondering that she 
could get so little joy, out of the exaltation to 
which she had been suddenly lifted, away from 
the distasteful petty empire of her girlhood with 
its irksome lack of distinction and superfluity of 
sisters. She would have been glad to be even 
unreasonably elated, and to forget everything but 
the flattery of the moment ; but she was like one 
courting sleep, in whom -liioughts insist like wilful 
tormentors. 

Wondering in this way at her own dulness, and 
all the while Ibnging for an excitement that would 
deaden importunate aches, she was passing through 
files of admiring beholders in the country-dance with 
which it was traditional to open the ball, and was 
being generally regarded by her own sex as an envi- 
able woman. It was remarked that she carried her- 
self with a wonderful air, considering that she had 
been nobody m particular, and without a farthing to 
her fortune. If she had been a duke's daughter, ot 
one of the royal princesses, she could not have taken 
the honours of the evening more as a matter of 
course. Poor Gwendolen 1 It would by -and -by 
Vcome a sort of skill in which she was automati- 



BOOK V.-*J-MOia)«GiA.I. « 3 

oally practised, to bear "this last great gambling loss 
with aa air of perfbot'self-poBsei^kMa. 

The next couple timt passed 'trere also worth look^- 
ing; at. Lady Pentreath had said, '^ I shall stand tip 
for one dance, but I shall choose mypartnei*. Mr 
Deronda, you are the youngtot man; I mea;ti to da^ce 
with you. Nobody is old enough to make a g<ood 
pair with me. I must have a contrast.'' And the 
contrast certainly set off tlie old lady to the utmost; 
She was one of thoee women who are never haiid* 
some till they are old, e^d she had had the wisdom 
to embrace the beaoJby of age as early as possible. 
What might have Beemed harshness in her features 
when she was yoimg, had turned now into a satis- 
&ctory stimgth of form and expression which defied 
wrinkles, and was set off by a crown of white hair; 
her well-built figure wa» well covered with black 
drapery, her ears and neck comfortably caressed with 
lace, showing none of those withered spaces which 
one would think it a pitiable condition of poverty 
to expose. She glided along gracefully enough, her 
dark eyes still wilii a miBchievoiis smile in them as 
sh^ observed the Company. Her partner's young 
lichness of tint agiainst the flattened hues and rougher 
forms of her aged head had an effect something like 
that of a fine flower againist a lichenoue branch. Per- 
haps the tenants hardly a|)preeiated this pair. Lady 
Pentreath was nothing more than a straight, active 
old lady: Mr Deronda wi^' a familiar figure regard- 
ed with friendliness; but if he had been the h^ir, 
it would have been regretted that his £ace wad Hot 
as xmmistakeably English as Sir Hugo's; 



H DmiBJj DERONDA. 

GrawdOQiirt's , appearance wh^ri he came up vtiih 
Lady Mallinger ^»'ia«»ot impeached! with foceigimeBS : 
still the satisfaction in it was w* complete. It wofuld 
have been matter of congratulation if one who had 
the luck to inherit two old family estates had had 
more hair^ a fresher colour,, and- a look of gueater 
animation; but that fine families dwindled ofi into 
females,, and estates raa togetiher into the single 
heirship df a mealy-compleiioned male, was a ten- 
dency in things whi<?h .seemed to he accounted for. by 
a citation of other instances*. .It was agreed that Mr 
Gr^^idcourt could aever be taken for anything but 
what he wals — a bont gebtleman; and that, in faob, 
he looked like an heir, Perhaps the person least 
qoQiplaC0ntly disposed towarda him at that moment 
wiBis Lady Mallinger, to whom going i«i parocession up 
this country-dance with Grandcourt yms a.blazonment 
of hdrself as the infeHoitoUs wife who had produced 
nothing but daughters, little better than no children, 
poor dear things, except for her own fondness and 
for Sir Hugo's wonderful goodness to them. But 
such inward discomfort could not 'previant the gentle 
lady from looking fair and stout to admiration, or her 
full blue eyes from glancing mildly at hec neighboiirs. 
All the mothers and fskth^rs held it a thousand pities 
that she had not had -a fine boy, or even several-4- 
which might have been expected, to look. at her when 
she was firiat married,. r: 

The gallery inchided only t^ee «ides of the quad- 
rangle, [the fourth being shut off as a lobby or corri- 
dor : ppe aide was used for dancing, ^nd the opposite 
side for the supper-table, while the intermediate part 



BOOK V.--1-M0RD1BC1A.I. 65 

was lass brilliantly lit^- and fitted with comfortable 
seats. Later in the eveningiGwendolen was in <me 
of these seats, and Orandcburti wals standihg neaf her. 
They were not talking to eaoh other s she was lean* 
ing backward in her chairs and he against the wall ; 
and Deronda, happening to observe this^ went tip io 
ask her if she had' resolved not to' dance emj more. 
Ha^^ing himself been doing 'hard duty in this way 
among the guests, he thoii^t he had e^amed the 
right to sink for a lit^lef' while inifco the baokgronnd, 
and he had spoken little to Gwendolen since their 
conversation at tfa« piano the day bef(M*e. Grand- 
court's presence would only make it the eaibier to 
show that pleasuDB in 'talking* io her ^ven about 
trivialities which would be a sign of friendliness; 
and he fencied that. her face looked blank. A^emile 
beamed over it as -she saw him coming, and she 
raii^ed herself fro?a her leatdng posture. Gmndcourt 
had been grumbling at the ennui of staying so long 
in this stupid danoe, and proposing that they should 
vanish : she had resist^il on the ground of politeness 
—not without being al little frightened at the prob- 
abihty that he was silently angry with her. She hiad 
her reason for staying, though she had beguji to 
despair of the opportunity for the sake of which she 
had put the old nedcla;ce on her wrist But now at 
last Deronda had cotne. ' 

" Yes ; I shall not dstooef any more. Are you not 
glad?" she said, wi^ sbtoc gaiety. "You might 
have felt obliged humbl^ to offer yourself as a part- 
ner, and I feel sm^e you httve daafeod more than you 
like already." 



66 DANIEL DERONDA. 

• *'I will not deny thatf' said Deronda, "sinoe you 
have danced a;s much as you like*" -: 

" But will yon take trouble for n!i© in another way, 
and fetch me a gldss of that .fresh water?" 

• It was but a few steps that Deronda had to go for 
the, water. Gwendoleil' was wrapped in the lightest, 
softest ef white woollen burnouses, under which her 
hands were hidden. While, he was gone she had 
drawn off h^r glovie, which was finished with a lace 
jjuffle^ and when she put up her haiid to take the 
glass and. lifted. it to.%er mouth, the necklace- 
bracelet, which in 'its triple 'winding adapted . itself 
clumsily to her wrist, w^s necessarily conspicuous, 
firand court saw it^ and saw that .it was attracting 
Deronda's notice^ 

"What is that hideous thing you have got on 
your wrist ? " said the husband. 

" That ? " said Gwendolen, composedly, pointing 
to the turquoises, while she still held the glass ; " it 
is an old necklace that I like to wear. I lost it 
onoe, and some one found it for me." 
(With that she gave' the glass again to Deronda, 
who iinmediately carried it away, and on returning 
said, in order to, banish any consciousness about the 
necklace — 

" It is worth while for you to go and look out at 
one of the windows on that side. You can see the 
finest possible moonlight on. the stone pillars and 
oarving, and shadows waving across it in the wind." 

"I should like to see it. Will you go?" said 
Gwendolen, looking up at' her husband. 

He cast his eyes down at her, and saying, " No, 



BOOK vV.-— rMOEDBOAI. 67^ 

Deronda will take you^" slowly xDoved from bi» 
leading attitude, and slbwly > walked away. 

Gwendolen's &oe^for a indment ehowed a fleeting 
vexation: she resented' this^shoiw of ' indifference 
towards her. Deronda felt annoyed, chiefly for her 
sake ; and with a qtdck sense that.it would relieve 
her most to behave as if nothihg- peculiar Jiad oo- 
curred, he said, "Will yon take > my arm and goy 
while only servants iare there P '5, iHe thought that 
he understood weU her action dn dbbwing his atten- 
tion to the necklace : she' wished' him to infer that 
she had submitted henntilnd to xebuke— her speech 
and manner had firokn theirfirstiflitotuatidd' towards 
that submission — and that ^he felt nd lingering 
resentment. Her evident confidence in his inter- 
pretation of ■ her appealed' to hisnd as • a . ^peeuliar 
claim. -'•!.■.'', 

When they were walking together, Gwendolen 
felt as if the annoyance which held just • happened 
had removed another' film of resencre £rom; between 
them, and she had' more: right thah before to be aa 
open as she wished- = She did mot speak, bemg filled 
with the sense of silent confidence^ until they were 
in front of the window looking out on the moonlit 
court. A sort rof boweif iiad beei made rojond the 
window, tumiiig it ii^to a recess.- Quitting his. ami, 
she fblded her hands in; her ibua-noue, and pressed 
her brow agaiiast the glass; •■ iHe inoved slightly 
away, and held the lapeli^. of- 1 his coat with .'his 
thiunbs under the collar as his manner was': he had 
a wonderful power of standing perfectly still, and 
in that position neminded one sometimes : of Dante's 



eS DANIEl*: DEEONDA, 

spiriti ma^i com occhi tardi e gravi. (Doiibtleas 
some of these daticed in tlieir youth, doubted of 
their own vocaiion^ and' foTundth^ own times too 
modern.) He abstained, flbom remadting on the 
scene before tham, fearing' iiiat lany indifferent wordd 
might jar on her: t akeady the • oalia .light and 
shadow, the ancient steacMist . forms, had aloofnesst 
enough from those. 'inwand troubles which he felt 
sure were agitating' ^hea . ' . And -he judged aright i 
she: would have Jbeeii • impatient (£ poilite. oonversa+ 
tion. The incidieiits ^of. the last minute or two had 
receded behind Toffmef' tihoiightd which she' hs& 
imagined hfems^if 'utteiiing ito Derdnda, and which 
now urg^d theml3el'v'«6 to: her lips. In a subdued 
voice, she «aid-^ ; ••. ;•;;:.: 

*^ Suppose I had g^nlblbd afgainy . ahd lost, th^ 
necklace again, what should you have thought of 
me?'' • ■• • .••■ ....: - : • /. // 

' " Worde than: I dodidw." • u. .. 

" Then yom are mistisikenj aJwut me. You wanted 
me not: to do tbafe— ^not. to make my i gain out. of 
another's losib in.ldittt' way^anii! I havfr. done a 
great deal worse." »?.■■.• 

^^ I can imagine ".toinptaidelns," said Deronda. 
'^ Perhaps I am able 'td^uiidfirstand wha^ you mean* 
At least I Titidei'stand .8alf»-reproaichk'' . In spite of 
preparation, he was) ^^Imostiialarmed at Gwendolen's 
ptebipitaney of confidenee towards him, in contrast 
with her habitual i*edolute eohceahn^nt.: 

"What shooid you do. if you were like me — ^feel- 
ing that you Were wrong, and miseiafole, and dread- 
ing everything .to;aome?'V It seemed that ^e was 



BOOfK V..-^MORDBOilT. 69 

Kntrymg to make the \xkmb«i use of this dppcirttttutj 
tcr jBpeftk as dhe would. ' ! u 

^^That is not to be amended by doing one Hiing 
only — but many," said Deroiida, deoiMvely. • ■ 

"What?" teid Gwendolen, hastily, . moving her 
brow from the glass and looking. at hito. 

He looked foil at her in return, with whaA-she 
thought was severity.' He felt :that it was not .a 
moment in which he must ■ let himself be tender, 
and flinoh from implying a hard opinion. 

" I mean there are many iihoughts and habits that 
may he^tis to beair iiiervitable sbnrow< Mttltitudes 
have to bear it." * ' 

8be turned her brbw to the window again^'and 
said impatiently, "Yon mnst' tdl me then what to 
think and what to do ; else why did you not ilet 
me go on doing as I liked, arid not minding ? If I 
had gone on gambling I* anight have won^ again, and 
I might have got not to care for anything else;. You 
would not let me do ^at- Why shouldn^t I do as I 
-like, and not mind?- .Other people do." FoOr Gwen- 
dolen's speech expressed 'nothing very clearly except 
hef irritation. ' • . , »' ; 

" I don't believe- you would eVer get not to minx^V 
said Deronda, with deep-toned decision. " If it were 
tme that baseness and cisoelty made 'an escape from 
pain, what difference would ' that make to people 
who can't be quite base/or cruel? Idiotis :ei6ape 
soiiie pain ; but you danft- be an idiot. Some may 
do wrong to another without remorse ; but suppose 
one does feeifemottBe?' I believe you ^eoudd never 
lead an injurious life — all reckless lives arcinjuribus, 



78 DANIEL DERONBAj'J 

pestileiift^^l— without feeling remorfie." Derbnda's 
unconscious fervour had gathJetBd. as he went on : 
he was utteriilg thbughta ! which he had used for 
himself in' moinehta of painful- meditation. ' 

" Then tell me what better I; can- do/* eaid Gwen- 
dolen, insistently. ■ ' : . ' , .; 
' "Many things. Look .on other lives fbesides your 
ownw: See what their troubles are, and /how th^y 
<are bomd. Try to cam about somethinig m t\m 
vast world besides the gratification of> small selfish 
desires. Try to care for what is he^t in thought 
and acticin — something ' that is good . apart; &om the 
accidents of your own lot." 

For an instant or two Gwendolen was iinute. 
ThenJ again moving her ibrow- from the glaas, she 
said-*-^ • . / ■ " • ' / •.'').'. I. 

: ^* You mean that I am selfish an^. ignorant." 

He met her .fiied look in :silfflice before, he 
answered" firmly— *: > • ' . . ' 

" You will not go on' being selfish -and igaorfent." / 
• She did not turn away her glanbe or let <hex eyef- 
lids fall, bilt a change came over her face — tbat 
subtle change in nerve and muscle which will some- 
times give a ohUdlike expresaioai even to the elderly : 
it is* the subsidence of self-assertion. 

<^ Shall I lead you back? ''.said Der<wiida, gently, 
turning and offering: hear his arm again. She took 
iti silently, and in that way tihey- came iii sight of 
Grandcourt, who was walking slowly niaar their 
former place. Gwendolen went- up to. him and said, 
*^I am aready to go no\^. Mr DaroiKla will excuse 
us to Lady Malliiiger.'' 



BObt,' Y', — ».M<i)KD2CAl. 1 1 

«Cei?tamly," said BetokdA. <*LOrd And Lady 
Pentreath disappeared same time ago." ^ 

Grandoomt gave bis arm in silent cdiopliance, 
nodding. Wer Ms shotilder to Deronda, aiid' Gwen- 
dolen too. oiilyv half tuwieid tb hoyr atid sa^, 
"Thanks*" The bnfibaaid < and wife left the gallery 
and paced d!he eorridors in Bilerioe; Whfen the dooij 
had olos6d bn l&iem in the botlddii^^ Gi'aiidcdtitt 
threw himself into a chair and ftaid, with' tAider- 
toned pereinptbrltiess,' "Sit d6wh."'' She,' eilready 
in the expectation of something unpleasant, had 
thrown off her burnous with nervoUs un<!5onsciau6- 
ness, aid • inmiediately'. obeyed. Turning his eyes 
towards her, ie beg*ini-i- : .• . m ' 

" Obl%e me in future by not Showing *whita6 hk^ 
a mad woanai)! in k play." ' . > . ^ 

'^ What do you inean ? " Boid Oweiidtileri. • 

"I suppose there is some understanding betv^fefen 
yoii asid' ; Dewmda about ' that • thiiig ydu ' havd' ' on 
your wiist.. If 'you hAve anything to say to^ him, 
say it. But dbn't oatry on si telegraphiiig which 
other pec^le are^ suppiosed Aot to see.' It's- dktri- 
nably- vulgar.'' '^^ 

"You cdn kftow all about the necklace," said 
Gwendolen, Her 0;hgry pride resisting the night- 
mare of fear, ' 

• "I don't want to' know. Keep to yourself what- 
eveor you like." ^ GrattdcoUtt paused between each 
sentence, afad in each hi# speech seemed' to become 
more preteiniasfcurally' distiittit iti 4ts inwai^d 't6nes. 
"What I care- to kn^w,! »hall' know' without ybuf 
teUing me. Only you ' will ypleise to behaVfe as 



"[^ . DANJEL DERONDA. 

becomes pay wifei And ,not make a ^pisotacle of 
yourself." 

{f Do you object to my talhiag to Mr J>earonda?*' 
,;"I donlt care twa straws about Deroi^da^ or toy 
other PQnceitied hanger-on. ^ You may talk. to him 
as much as yoru lifce. He la m>t going to take my 
place. You are my wife. And you. wiE either fill 
y-pur place V prpperly — to the world and to me-^or 
you will go to the devil." : 

"I never intended anything but to fiU.my pkce 
property/' said Gwendolen, with kittcorest mortifioa^ 
tion, in her souj^ , f . :, -. 

"Jou put that thi^g. on your :^8t, aid hid ifc 
from me till you wanted liim to see lit. . Only fools 
go into that deaf and.. dumb. talki and think they^re 
secret You will understand that .you are not to 
compromise yoursel£ Behave with dignity. • That's 
all I have, to say." ! - 

With.tb^t last, word Grandoourt; nose, tuhased ihis 
b^ck to the fire ajjd. looked dpwn on her. She was 
mute. There was no reproach thaU she dared to 
ilix^g at him in return for these insulting admoni- 
tions, and the very reason she felt them to be iii- 
Bulting.was that their purpobtt; went with the most 
absolute dictate of her pride. What she wotdd least 
like to incur was the making a fool of herself and 
being compromised. I( was futile aod irrelevant to 
try and explain that Deronda too hftd only been a 
monitpr — the strongest of all monitor^. : Grandoourt 
was contemptuoim, not jealotia ; contemptuously oer- 
tain of all the subjection he oaored for. Why cotdd 
she Yiot rebel, ai^ defy him ? She longed to do it. 



BOOK V.-*-fMOEDBCAI. tS 

Bait^ she might to wall haye tried to defy die tetttire 
of her. nerves aood the ' palpiftntion o( her he^rt. Her 
))^9.b9ndhad a ghottlj- army at his baok^ thatcottld 
eloao round her wherever she might tiim. She Bat 
iu her splendid attnoe, like a white linage of help- 
16801^909 and he seamed to gtatify himbellf with 
l0oliiog 8d her. \- She oonld noit even make a pae* 
aion^te eitQlaAtivtioxiy or throw up her airms^ as she 
would h%ve done ixi, her maiden days« The sense 
of his Bcom kept her stilL 

"Shall J ri^.?'! he said^rafber what se«ned to hev 
a long while^ She moved her head in:.asseitt,:and 
after ringing he Went to hi* dresBing-ro6m< ; '. 

Certain words. Wer!e • gnawing within hdr. ^^f£hb 
wrong you have done me will be your own cmhwat'" 
As he (Closed ;thei doot; the bitter tears rosey and ibhe 
gnawing words provoked an answer : "Why did you 
put your &ngB into ime and not into Mm ? '' It wto 
uttei:ed in a whisper, to the tears oanie up silent* 
ly, But .i]^^ledi^tely ^he |»*essed her handkerchief 
against her eyes/i^nd eheoked her tendency 'to:s(t>b. 

The next day, recovered &om the shuddeiing fit 
pf this evei^itig S6eiiie, she determined to nse the 
charter whioh GFandc()uirt had scornfully given heiP^' 
and tp talk as mu^oh to she liked with Deronda ; but 
no opportunities occurred, and any little devices she 
could imagine: for creating them were rejected/ by 
her pride, which wto now doubly active. « Ndt to- 
wards Derondft himself— nshe was curiously fireei&om' 
alaom lest he should think her openness wanting in 
dignity : it was part b£ his power over her that she 
believed him &ee from all iftiisunderstanding ap td 



74 DAJNUEL! DERONDA. 

thewayiltt Which she appealed to hftjfc; or rathfer, 
thitt he shotild ihisunderfi^nd het'Uad ifeyer entdi-ed 
iiito her mind. But the -last morning -0&m<dj arid 
gtill sh^ had never been able to take np the dropped 
thread of their talk, and khe was without d^vifceB; 
She and Grahdcourt were to* leave at three o'dook. 
It ,waa too irritating that! after aiwklkin the grounds 
bad hee^ planned in Deronda's heating;' h^ did hot 
present himself to join in it; Gmndftourt wiis' gon^i 
with Sir Hugo to King's Topping, to see the old 
mahot-bouse ; others of the gentlem^en were shoot- 
ing ; . she waB condenmed to go and see tlife decoy 
and the water -fowl, and = (fevelr^hing ©Isid that she 
least wanted to see, with the ladies, with old Lord 
PiBntreath. and his anecdotes, with Mr Vandiemoodt 
and his. admiring manners. The irritaiion' became 
too strong for her: without' premeditation, she took 
advantage of the- winding road to llnget a little out 
of. sight, and then set off baiok to the house, ahiiost 
i^unning when she wa« safe from observation. She 
entered by a side 'door, and the 'library was on her 
left hand ; Deronda, she knew, was ofteii there ; why 
might she not turn in there as well as iitto any other 
room in the house ? She had been taken there ex- 
pressly' to see the illuminated fiimily tree, and other 
remarkable things — what more natural than "that she 
should like to look in again? The thing most to be 
feared was that the roorii would be enipty of Deronda, 
for iflie door was ajar. She pushed it gently, and 
looked round it He was thiste, writing busily at a dis- 
tant table, with his back towards thcl dooif (in fact, Sii' 
Hugo had asked him to answer some constituents' 



BOOK Vw MDIBDKOAI. T5 

letters which had became preesing). An enottnaas 
log -fire, wiliL' the scent of nmsia frcmi' the .-boc^^ 
made the greaub room as wanniy odorons ds a private 
dhapeL in which .the censers hsave been swinging^' It 
seemeditoo daring to go in— ftoo rude to speak arid 
inteimpt him^ jet she went .in mk the noaBolessioar^- 
pet, and stodd still for two or thrde raiiMites, 'till 
Deronda, having ^finiiBhed. a letter, pcished it aside 
for signature, and threw himseHl back to coiisider 
wheilher there- were anything else for him . to do, 
or whether he could walk out .for the chuattoe of 
meeting ihe ;p€Hl;y: which included Gwendolen, 'when 
he heard heir voioe. sayingj "Mr Deronda*" ! . j. 

It was certainly startling* He rose hastily, tuiued 
round, and pushed away his chair with a strohg ex- 
pressioti" osf surprise. ■ : '! 

" Am .1 wrong to come tat? " said Gwendolen. ; ' 

"lithotight yoii;were fiir on your walk," sSEiid 
Deronda. - 

" I turned back," said Gwendolen. * , . 

" Do. . yon not intend to. go out again ? I coJuld 
joati you noWy if you would allow mei" .-^ i 

"No;.Ii want to! say^ samething, jarid I cta/ii stay 
long," said Gwendolen, speaking -quickly mi subi- 
dned tone, ^hile isb© wadkfed • forward and rested hdr 
atms and.iHuff on the ..back of the chair he had 
pushed away from hiiti. i.".I tvant to teU ydu that 
it is really so — I can't help feeling- remoi^se for haT- 
ing injured othersw That was. whdt I: meant Mien 
I Siaid that I had done worsfe than .gam^ble again? and 
pawnth^ neddaiCB again — -something motei injiufrious^ 
as you called it* , And Ii can't alter i it . I am pun* 



716 . DANEEL DERONDA. 

iebedj' bat I can't alter it. You siiid I could do many 
tiiivQgfe. Tell me again. What should 'you do^ — 
what, should you feel, if you were in my place? " 
. . The. huajried direotnees with which she spoke — tthe 
dbseAce- of all her little airs, as if sherii^ere only:oonr 
oemed to-use the time in getting an answer that would 
gilide her, made her; appeal uiispeakably touching. 
• > Deronda said,-:^"! should feel something of what 
you^feel — deep sorrow*" '■ ; i 
. . " JBut what would you try to do ? " said 6wendt>len, 
with urgent quickness. ' • - 

■•' > ^^ Order my life so as to make any possible amends, 
and keep away from doing any sort ^of injury again," 
said Deronda, catching her sense that the time for 
speech was brief. :...>. 

" But I can't — I can't ; I must go on^" said O-weor 
doleny in a passionate loud whisper. . " I halve thrust 
but. others— I' have made my gain out ■ of llieii' loss 
— tried to make it — tried. And I must go on. I 
can't alter it." ' ■ ' 

■ It was impossible to answer this instantaneously. 
Her words had confirmed his conjecture, and tiie 
situation of all concerned rose in sWiffc images be- 
fore him. His feeling ;for tkoiae who > had been 
f^thruat out '' sancticDed her remorse; he coitld not 
try to- nullify it, yet his heart was fiill of pity for 
her. But as soon as he could hie answ^red^-^taking 
up her last words — 

<: "That is the bitterest' of all— to wear the yoke of 
bur own wrong-doing. But if you submitted to that, 
as men submit to maiming or a lifelong incurable 
disease?— and: made the unalterable wrong a reason 



BOOK V. MOHDECAI. 77 

for more ieffcfft- towards a good that may dosome^ 
thing to 6oimterbaIaiioe the evil? One who has 
oommitted irremediable enroorB maybe scourged by 
that consciousnesa into a higher oourse than is 
common. There are many examples. Feeling 
what it is to have spdiledone life may well miake 
ns long tbsave other lives £rom being spoiled^" 

" But yon bave not wronged any one, or spoikd 
their lives/' said Gwendolen, hastily. "It is only 
others who.:have wronged your . 

Deronda coloured slightly, but said immediately 
— " I suppose our keen feeing for ourselves mi^t 
end in'gi'Timg 'US a keen feieling for others, if, when 
we are/smfiering aoutely, woiwere to consider that 
others go through the sanie sharp experience^ That 
is a* 8t»rt of reibbrfie be^e commission. Oan't you 
understand that?" ./ 

"Idiink I do— now," said . Ghrendolem. "But 
yon wereright-^I am selfish^ I have never thought 
much of any one's feelings, except my mother' Sw i 
have not been fond of people.-^But what can I do?" 
she went on, more quickly. ' '" I, must get up in the 
monuliig and ^. what every one else does. It is all 
like a dance. set b^f(HrehamL . I fseem to see all that 
can be-t— and I am tired and sick of it. And jijhe 
world is aU confusion to me "" — she md.de a gesture 
of dis^st. " You say I am ignorant. But what i^ 
the goodi of trying to; know tiaore, unless life were 
worth more ? " ! ' 

"This good," said Deronda, promptly, with a 
touch of indignant severity, which he was inclined 
to encoTuage as' his own safeguard; "life U)0uld 



78 : DANIEL DERONBA. ' 

be' worth more tOi you: some real knowledge would 
give you an interest in the world beyond the small 
drama, of persdoal desiares. It is the cdrse of your 
life-*--fargive me-^of so many lives,! ^that ail passian 
is spent in: that narrow ; round, for want .of ideas 
and ' sympathies to make 'a larger home for it. • Is 
there any single occupation of 'mind that you care 
about with - passionate delight or even independent 
interest?" ' ..':.•, ','■•" v .. 

Deronda paused, but Gwendoleny looking/startled 
atid thrilled as by an , electric shook, said nothibg, 
and he went on more insistently — > - < 
■ *M take what you. said bf . mnsic for a small . eixJam- 
ple-^— it smswers for all largier things^ — ^you will not 
cultivate it for the sake. of a^. private joy:iii it: What 
sort of Barth-i or heaven would hold afiy spiritual 
wealth in it for souls pauperised by. ind.otidn ? If 
end firmamenii has' no stimulus. for our: atbehiion and 
iiwe, I don't see how four would have itv We should 
6tamp every pos^ble world ^th the flatne^ of our 
own inanity— -i which is necessarily iinpioTts, without 
febith or fellowship. ' The ' refuge you are' needing 
fcom personal trouble is the higher, the religious 
life, which holds an enthusiasm for something more 
•thin our own appetites and vanities, ^he few may 
find themselves in it simply by an elevation of 
feeling; but for us who have to struggle for our 
wisdom, the higher life must be a region ia which 
the affections are clad with knowledge." :i: 

The half-indignant remotistrance that; vibrated in 
Deronda's voice came, .as often happens, froib'the 
habit of ill ward argument with himself rather- than 



BOOK V. MORDEOAI. t79 

from Severity towards Gwendolen ; buifc '. it had a 
mote benjefioeat effect on her. tha^ any soothdnge. 
Nothing is feebler than the. indblent rebeliScm of 
^omplfeiht ; and to be i^nsed into self-judgmehat m 
comparative activity. For the iqoment she Mt'like 
ar shaken ohild-^shaken out. of its wailings into awe, 
and(j3he said hiimbly--r i 

"I will try. I wiU think." 

They both stood sileiit for a minute, as if some 
third presence had . arrested them, — for Deponda, 
too^ wa« under that sense ^ of pressure whicii is apt 
to . come when our own winged words seem to 
be hovering' arouiid us, — till Gwendolen be^an 
^agaiin-r— .••..-' •'':" 

"Ydu liaid affection was the best things and I 
have hardly any — ^none about' me^ If I could j I 
would ' have mamma; but thart is . impossible. 
Things have changed to me so — in siich/a :short 
time. Whfi^tl used not to like, I long for now. I 
think I. am almost getting foAd of the old things 
now they are gone.'* H^r lij) trembled. I . 

'^ Take the present suffering as a painfal letting 
in of light," said Deronda,. more gently.* " Yoii are 
conscious of more beyond, the round of your owninr 
cliilations — you know more of 'Hie way in whierh your 
life presses On others, and their life on yours. I 
don't think ybtt^could have escaped the painful pro- 
.cess in some fonJi. or other.'' 

" But it is a very cruel form," said. Gwendolen, 
beiiting her foot on the giiiound with returning agita* 
tion. " t am frightened at e^erjrthing. I amfnght- 
ened at mysel£ When my blood is fired I. can do 



•80 " DANIEL DERONDA. 

daKng tilings— -take any leap; \mt that makegiine 
fiightened at myeelfi" She was lodking a* rioiliing 
outside her; but her eyes were dirdotddtowTaid'the 
window, away from Deronda, who, wi*h quick oom- 
pi^hension, said~ i 

.'*Tum yout fear into a safeguard.-: Keep your 
dread fixed on the idea of incr^ing' iHat Temorse 
which is so bitter to you. Fixed meditatioki mky do 
a gredt deal towards defining oUr longing or dread. 
We are not always in a- state of stjtong emotion, and 
when we are calm we can use our 'memories «nd 
gradually change the bias of our fear, as we do oar 
taEEkes. Take your fear as a safeguard. It is like 
quickness of hearing. It may make consequences 
paissionately pk^sent to you. Try to take hold of 
your: sensibility, and use it as if it were a faculty*, 
like vision." Deronda uttered each sentefliice knore 
urgentiy ; he felt as if he were seizing a faint chance 
of rescuing her from some indefinite danger.' 

**'Yes, I know; I understand what you mean," 
said Gwendolen, in her loud whisper, not turning 
her eyes, but lifting up her small gloved hii,nd and 
waving it in deprecation of the notion that it was 
easy to obey that advice. "But if feelings rose 
— there are some feelings — hatred' and anger— how 
can I be good when they keep rising? And if 
there came a moment when I felt stifled ahS could 

bear it no longer ^" She broke off, and with 

agitated lips looked at Deronda, but the expression 
on his face pierced her with an entirely new feeling. 
He was under the baffling difiSoulty of discerning, 
that what he had been urging on her was thrown 



BOOK V. MOBDKCAI. 81 

intoi the pallid diatasee of vmre thought befbte the 
outburst of her habitual emotion. It was. as 'if 
he saw her drowning while his limbs were bound. 
The pained compassion which was spread over his 
f0atu^6s .as he watched hei*, ! afiecxted her with a 
compunction unlike any she had felt befoie, and 
in:^ changed imploring tone she said-^ 

•" I "am grieving, you. i akn ungrateful. Tou can 
heip n»e» I will think; of everything. I will tryi 
Tell me — it will not be a pain to you that I }krm 
d$kr^ to sp^ftk of my trouble to you? You -began 
it^ you, knqw, when you rebuked me." yh«re was 
a meUnphoiy smile on her lips as she said that^ 
but 3h0 add6d mpre entreating]y, . " It will not be 
a.,paii|itQ you?" : - 

^*fiIoii.if it does airything to.,(alE»ve you fromoto 
evil to come," said Deronday with strong emphasis'; 
" otherwise, it will be a lasting pain." , 

"No-^no — it shall not be. It may be — it shall 
be better with me because I have known you." 
She turned immediately, and quitted the room. 

When she was on the first landing of the stair- 
case, Sir Hugo passed across the hall on his way 
to the library, and saw her. Grandcourt was not 
with him. 

Deronda, when the baronet entered, was standing 
in his ordinary attitude, grasping his coat- collar, 
with his back to the table, and with that indefin- 
able expression by which we judge that a man is 
still in the shadow of a scene which he has just 
gone through. He moved, however, and began 
to arrange the letters. 



62 . DANIEL DERONDA. : - 

' : " Has Mi'fe GrandcoiMTt been in here?" ariid'Sir 
"Hugo.- ■•. , ■ •• i^' < •.'..' -» 

f "Yes^ she has." - i 

" Where are the others ? '* ■.:.•;.'■' 

Hil . believe she left them somewhere r& the 
grounds." " . 

After a moment's silence, in which Sir' Hugo 
looked /at a letter withotit reading it, he said, "I 
hope you! are not playing with fire, Dan-*— you 
underitatod me?" /- , - 

f*l! believe I do, sir," said Derohdaj after a slig-lit 
hesitation, which had some repressed angler ifl it. 
MBut there is nothing answering to yotir metaphor 
— ^no3 fire, aiid therefore no chance of scofrdhitig." 

Sir Hugo looked searchingly at him, and' theti 
saidy **8o much the better. For betweisn ourselves, 
I :f«ndy there may be' some hidden gtftipowdfet 
in that establishment." 



83 



(J H AFTER XXXVIL 



Aspem. Pardon, my lord — I s^^eak for Sigisinimd. 

Fronsber^. Vox him? Oh, ay— for him I always hlold 
A pardon safe in bank, sure he will draw 
Sooner or later on me. What his need? 
Mad project broken? fine me(ihanlc wings 
That would not fly? durance, assault on watch, 
Bill for Epemay, not a crust to eat ? 

Aipcm. 0\Li none of these, my lord ; he has escaped 
From Circe's herd, and seeks to win the love 
Of your fair ward Cecilia : but would win 
Ficst your consent. You frowA- 

Fronsherg. Distinguish words. 

t said T held a pardon, not ctosenl 



In spite of Deroiida*s reasons for wishing' to be in 
town again — reasons m which his aiudety for 
Mirah was blent with curioBity to know more of 
the enigmatic Mdrdeoai — be did not manage to go 
np before Sir Hugo, who preceded his family that 
he might be' ready for the opening of Parliament 
on the 6th of February. Deronda took up his 
quarters . in' Park Lafte, aware that his chambeirs 
were sufficiently tenanted by Hans Meyrick. This 
was what he expected; but he found othei* thingi 
not altogether according to his expectations.- . 

Most of us remember Betzsch's drawing of destiny 
in the shape of Mephistopheles pla3ring at chess 



84 DANIEL 13ER0NDA. 

with man for his soul, a game in which we may 
imagine the clever adversary making a feint of 
unintended moves so as to set the beguiled mortal 
on carrying his defensive pieces away from the 
true point of attack. The fiend makes preparation 
his favourite object of mockery, that he may fatally 
persuade us against our best safeguard : he even 
meddles so far as to suggest our taking out water- 
proofs when he is well aware the sky is going to 
clear, foreseeing that the imbecile will turn this 
delusion into a prejudice against waterproofs instead 
of giving a closer study to the tveather- signs. It 
is a peculiar test of a man's metal when, after he 
has painfully adjusted himself to what seems a wise 
provision, he finds all his mental precaution a little 
beside the mark,, and his excellent intentions no 
better than miscalculated dovetails, accurately out 
from a wrong starting-poiiit. His magnanimity lias 
got itself ready to meet misbehaviour, and finds 
quite a different call upon it. Somethi}ig lOf tl^ 
kind happened to Deronda* 

His first impressioii was one of pure, pleasure 
and amusement at finding his sitting-room trans* 
fovmed into an atelier strewed with misoeUaneous 
drawings and with the contents of two cheats, |rom 
Rome, the lower half of the windows darkened with 
baize, and the blond Haois in his w^ird youljh as 
the "preBiding genius of the littered place— his ^air 
longer than of old, his faoe more whimsically creased, 
and his high voice as usual getting higher ^ under 
the excitement of rapid talk. The friendship of- the 
two had been kept up warmly since the memorable 



BOOK v.— -MORDEOAI. 85 

Cambridge time^ :not only by oorreepondenoe but 
by little :episodes of companionship abroad and in 
Englandy and the original rehttipn of confidenoe 
on one side and indulgence on the i other bad been 
developed in prsM3tice, as is wont to bo the case 
where sudi spiritual borrowing and lendinrg has 
been well begun. 

**I knew you would like to see my casts and 
antiquities/' said Hans, after the first hearty greet- 
ings and inqmries, "eo I didn't scruple to unlade 
iny chests here. But I've found two rooms at • 
Chelsea not many hundred yards from my mother 
and sisliers, and I shall soon be ready to hang out 
there — ivhen they've scraped the walls and put in 
some new lights. That's alj Fm waiting for. But 
yon see I don't wait to begin work : you can't con- 
ceive what a great fellow I^ going to be. The 
seed of immortality has sprouted within me." ■ . 

"Only a fttng6id growth, I dare«ay — a crowing 
disease in the lungs,*' said Deronda, accuistomed to 
treat Hans in brotherly fd,shlon. He was walking 
towards 'mm& drawings propped oti the ledge "of 
his bookcases ; five rapidly- sketched heads — diif- 
ferent aspects of the same face. He stood ^t a con- 
venient distance from thelm, without making any 
remark. Hans, too, was 'silent for ' la minute, took 
up his palette and begali touching the picture on 
hi» easel. • . ' . 

"What do you think ©f them?" he said at last. 

"The full face- looks to6 massive; otherwise the 
likenesses are gbod," said 'D^ro«da, more coldly 
tlian was usual with him. 



86 DANIEL DERONDA. 

" No, it is not too maseiye," said Hans, decisively. 
"I have noted that. There is i always a little sur- 
prise when one passes from the profile to < the full 
faee. But I shall enlarge her scale for Berenice. 1 
am making a Berenice series — look at the sketcheB 
along there^^and now I think 6f it, you aJre just tho 
model I want for the Agrippa." Hans, etill with 
pencil and palette in hand, had moved to Deronda's 
side while he said this, but he added hastily, as if 
conscious of a mistake, " No, no, I forgot ; yon 
• don't like sitting for your portrait, confound you ! 
However, Tve picked up a capital Titus. ThereJ 
are to be five in the series. The first is Beirenioe 
clasping the knees of Gessius Floras and beseech- 
ing him to spiare her people ; IVe got that on the 
easel. Then this, where she is .standing on the 
Xystus with Agrippa, entreating the people not to 
injure . themselves by resistance." 

" Agrippa's legs will never do," said Deronda. 

" The legs are good realistically," said Hans, 
his fgioe creasing drolly^- "public men are often 
shaky about the legfi-rr' Their legs, the emblem of 
thpir various . thought,' as somebody says' in the 
^Rehearsal.'" 

"But these are as impojssible as the legs of Ka- 
ph^eFs Alcibiades,^' ^aid Deroaida.. 
. " Then they are good ideally," said Hans. " Agrip- 
pa's legs were possibly bad; I idealise that aaid 
make them impossibly bad,. Art, my Eugenius, must 
intensify. But never mind the legs now : the third 
sketch in the series. is Berenice exulting in the prois- 
pect of being Empress of Rome, when the news has 



BOOK' Vi— ^MOHBBeAI. 87 

bome tibai Yedpasian is declared Emperor and her 
Ifivfer TituB his BuoceBBOR'^ i • • . ' 

'. f^¥ou!aaMiBt'f)Tit a screlLibiher moiith^ else people 
trill I loot • tAiderstand^ liiatj ' ¥x)ii can't - tell that in a 
pietixre.'' : -i' " ' ''..-i •' ' v v • -. 

" It will make them feel their ignorance' l^en— ^ 
an ■ -excellent, iaesthfetic ^effi»6t.i' The fouHJh is, Titus 
setndihg .Seiienioe .a^vay from Borne iflfter she has 
shared . ihis • palslce . for ten years *-^ both rehictani, 
hoth. skd^-^-hmhis 'invitamj as BnetoAitis hath' it* 
rYeifoundia model foar iihe Eoraan bimt©." 

..." Shall y^il make B^eni<$e look fifty? She mtifit 
have. been that" - <• < < 

"'No, rio^A few matviie tbnehes to show the lapse 
otf}*tiine. Dark^eyed beanty wears welly hers partic- 
ularly. . But now, here, is the .fifth : Berenioel seated 
lonely on the ruins of Jerusalem. That is pure 
ijhagination. That^ is-what ought to have been — 
pechapsiwas. Now^ see .'how I tell a pathetic neg* 
ative. Nobody tkn^wls what became of her :-r^that 
is ifin^y vindicated by the 'Series coming to d( <5lose. 
There 4sf: no siith/'pioitirew" Here Hans; pretended 
to speak with a gasping sense of sublimity, and 
drew, back his' head with a frown, as if looking for 
a likeiitnpWbfisibn' oir. Deronda^ " I break ofi* dn the 
Hraneric style. The . story is chippbd off, m > to 
speak, and passes with, a ragged edge into nothing 
-A4e neant; oaml anything be more subKme, efipe- 
ciaQly in French ?' The vulgiar would desire to see 
her corpse and btnial-^perhaps' her will tead and 
her linen distributed. But now come and look at 
this on the easel. , I have made some way 'thfere." 



88 ■ DANIEL DEK0NI31AJ : 

" That beseechiug attitude iB» .really, good^" said 
Deronda, after a moment*j3 cojatempliation^ "You 
have jbeeix ^ety iiidastriotis> in jbhiapbiaistmas holi- 
days 5 for 1 1 Suppose you have Iteukenup the aaibjbet 
since you came to London." Neither of themrhaii 
yet mentioned: Mirak ! • < . ■' 

"No,-*^ salid:Hansi, putting touches to his picture, 
" I made up my mind to- itlie subject 'befoi^d. I take 
that lucky chance . for an augury th^t I am going 
to blirst on: the <^Orld as a great painter. I saw d 
splendid woman in the TrasteteJ'eT-<-the grasndest 
women there are half Jewesses — -and .she set me 
hunting for a fine situation of a Jewess at Eomei 
Like other men of vastileaiMug, I ended oby taOdng 
what lay on the surface. • III aht)w you a sketdb 
of the "Erasteverina's head when I /cam lay tny-hknde 
onit.'V ■ ' ., -.1 1 :• . ^ • ••,..■ 

"I should think she wonldi be aj morei 'Suitable 
model for Berenice," said Berorad^, not. /knowing 
exactly how to express his diseontent; * i ■ 

"Not a bit of it. The model ou^t to be- the 
mdst beautiful Jewess in the i world, and I ha-ir^ 
found her.'^ -< • . : . - 

"Ha'^e you made y!oursMf stire that she would 
like to figure in that character ? I should think, bo 
woman woiild be. more abhorrent to her. Does she 
quite know what you are doing?" ' • 

- " Certainly. I got her to throw herself precisely 
into this attitude. Little, mother dat fot Gessiiis 
Floras, and' Mirah clasped her kneies."-^Hei:e Hand 
went a; little way off and Idoked at the effect of hid 
toucblQs. • ' i '. 



BOOK V,— MOEDBCAI. 89 

**I daresay she knows nothing about Berenice's 
histoiy," said Deronda, feeling more iddignation thad 
he would hare been able to justify. 

" Oh yes, she does — ^ ladies* edition. Berenice 
was a fervid patriot, but was. beguiled by love and 
ambition into attaching hOTself tothe ^rch- enemy 
of her people. Whence the Nemesis. Miriah takes 
it as a tragic parable, and cries to think what the 
penitent Berenice sufteredas she wandered.. back to 
Jerusalem and sat desolate amidst desolation. . That 
was her own phrase. I couldn't find im my heart to 
tell her I invented that part of the story."- 

" Show me your Trarfeverina," said Deronda^ 
chiefly in order to hinder himself from saying some^ 
thing ^Ise. 

"Shall you mind turning over that folio?" said 
Hans. '^My studies of heads are all there^- But 
they are in confusion. You will perhaps find her 
next to a crop-eared undergraduate."' 

After Detonda had been turning over the drawings 
a minute or two, he said — 

"These seem to be all Cambridge heads and bits 
of country. Perhaps I had better b^in at the other 
end." 

" No ; you -11 find her. about the middle. I eiiftptied 
one folio into another." 

"Is this one of your undergraduates ?" said, De- 
ronda, holding up a drawing. "It's. an unusually 
agreeable fiace." 

" That ? Oh, that- s a man named .Oascoigne — 
Be* Gkscoigne. An uncommonly good fellow ; his 
npper lip, too, is good. I coached him before he- got 
VOL. II. P 



90 DANIEL DEEONDA. 

his BchoUrship. He ought to have taken .honours 
last Easter, But he was ill, dnd heds had to stay 
up another year. I must look^ him up. I want 
to know how he's going on." 
i "Here she is, I suppose," said Derofada, holding 
up a sketch of the Trasteverinfei. 

" Ah," said Hans, looking at it rather contemp- 
tuously, "too coarse. I was tinregenerate then." 

Derbnda was silent while he closed the folio, leav- 
ing 'the Trai^teverina outside. Then grasping his 
coatMsoUar, aiod turning towards Haais, he said, " I 
daresay m^ scruples are excessive, Meyrick, but 
I must ask. you to oblige me by giving up this 
notion."' • . 

Hans threw himself into a tragic attitude, and 
screamed, " What 1 my series— ^my immortal . Bere- 
nice series? Think of what you are saying, man 
— destroying, as Milton says, not a life but an im- 
mortality. Wait before yon answer, that I may 
deposit the implements of my art and be ready to 
uproot my hair." 

Hfere Hans laid down his pencil and palette, threw 
himself backward into a great chair, and hanging 
limply over the side, shook his long hair half over 
his faee, lifted his hooked fingers on each -side his 
head, and looked up with comic terror at Deronda, 
who was obliged to smile as he said— 

" Paifit as many Berenices as yon like, but I wish 
you could feel with me — perhaps you will, on reflec- 
tion-^that you should choose another modeL" 

"Why?" said Hans^ standing up, and looking 
seriods again. 



BOOK V. MOHDEC AI. 6 1 

^^ Because she may get intostich a position that 
her face is likely to be recognised. Mrs 'Merrick 
and I are anxious for her that she should be known 
as en admirable singer: It is right,' and «he wishes 
it, that she should make herself independent. And 
she has excellent chanoes« One good introduction 
is seoored already. And I am going to speak to 
Klesmer. Her face may come to be very well known^ 
and — ^well, it is useless to attempt to explain, unlevs 
you feel as I do. I believe that if Mirah saw the 
circumstanoes clearly, she would strongly object to 
being, exhibited in this way — ^to allowing hejrsqlf to 
be used as ^ model for a heroine of this sort." • 

As Hans stood with his thiimbs in the belt of his 
blouse listening to this speech, his face showed a 
growing - surprifie melting into amusement, that at 
last woiuidliave its way in an explosive laugh: but 
seeing that. Deronda looked gravely offended, be 
checked himself to say, " Excuse my laughing, De* 
ronda. You never gave me- an advantage ovei^ 
you before. If it had been about anything but my 
own pictures, I should have swallowed every word 
because you said it. And so. you actually believe 
tiiat I should get my five pictures hung on the line 
in a conspicuous position, and carefully studied by 
the public? Zounds, man I cider -cup and conceit 
never ^ve me half such a beautiftil dream. ,My 
pictures . are likely to remain as private as the 
utmost hypersensitiveness could desire." 

Hans turned to paint again as a way of filling 
ap awkward pauses. .Deronda stood perfectly etiU, 
recognising his mistake as to publicity, but also 



\ 

98 DANIEL DERONDA. ^ 

eoa8ciou&. that hiB repugnance was not nmoh dimin- 
ifehed* He was the reverse of satisfied either with 
himself or with Hans ; . bnt the power bi being qniet 
carries a; man well through moments of embarrass- 
tuetit. jHans had; a reverence for his frieiid which 
made him feel a sort of shyness at Deronda^s -being 
in the wrong; but it was not in his nature' to give 
up anything readily, though it were only a whim-^ 
er rather, especially. if it were a whim, and he pres- 
ently went on^ painting the while — ' 
. " But even supposing I had a public rushing after 
my pictures as if they were a railway series includ- 
ing nurses, babies, and bonnet -boxes, I can't see 
any justice ib your objection. Every painter worth 
remembering has painted the face he admired most, 
as often as he could. It is a part of his soul that 
goes out into his pictures. He difiuses its iilfluence 
in that way. He puts what he hates into a carica- 
ture. He puts what he adores into' some sacred, 
heroic form. If a man could paint the woman he 
loves a thousand times as the Stella Maris to put 
Courage into the sailors on board a thousand ships, 
so much the more honour to her. Isn't that better 
than painting a piece of staring immodesty and call- 
ing it by a worshipful name ? " ^ 

" Every objection can be answered if you take 
br^d ground enougli, Hans : no special question 
of conduct can be properly settled in that way," 
said Deronda, with a touch of peremptoriness. 
"I might admit all your generalities, and yet be 
light iii saying you otight not to publish Mirah's 
face as a model for Berenice. But I give up the 



BOOK V. ^MOHBBCAI. 93 

qneBtiou of publicity. I was unreasonable there." 
Deronda hesitated a moment. " StiU, even &^ a 
private affair j there might he good reasons for 
your not indul^ng yourself too much in painting 
her from the point of view y6u mention. You 
mu«t fet^l that her situation at pres^it is a very 
delicate one ; and until she is in more indepen- 
dence, ejie should be kept as. carefully as a bit of 
Venetian glass, for fear of shaking her out of the 
safe place^ she is lodged in. Are you -quite sure 
of your own disoretioii? Excuse me, Hans. ' My 
having found her binds me to watch over her. Do 
you understand iiie ? " 

"Perfectly,^* said Hans, turning his face into a 
good-htanonted smile. "You have the very justi- 
fiable opinion of me that I am Hkely to shatter all 
the glass in my way, and break my own skull into 
the bargain. Quit0 fair. Sino^ I got « into the 
scrape of being bom, everything I have likted best 
has been a scmpe either for myself or somebody 
else. Everytliing I have taken to hefertily has 
somehow turned into a scrape. My painting is 
the last scrape ; and I shall b6 all my life getting 
out of it. You think now I shall get into a scrape 
at home. No ; I am regenerate. You think 'I must 
be over head and ears in love \^th Mirah. Quite 
right ; so I am. But you think I shall scream and 
plunge and spoil everything. There you 'are mis- 
taken—excusably, but transcendently mistaken. I 
have undergone baptism by immersion. Awe takes 
care of me. Ask the little mother:" 

"You don't reckon a hopeless love among your 



94 DANIEL DERONDA. 

scrapes, then?!' said Deronda, whose voice seemed 
to get deeper as Hans's went highen 

" I don't mean to call mine hopeless," said Hans, 
with, provoking coolness, laying down, his tools, 
thrusting his . thumbs into his belt, and moving 
away a little, b^s if to contemplate his J)icture more 
deliberately. 

"My dear fellow, you are only preparing misery 
for yourself," said Deronda, decisively* "She would 
not marry a Christian, even if sh$ Icfved' him. Have 
you heard her — of course you have— yhc^d her speak 
of her people and her religion*? " , , * 

"That can't last," said Hails. "She will. see no 
Jew who is tolerable. Every rtiale Of that race is 
insupportable, — * insupportaWy advancing* — his 
nose." 

"She may rejoin her family. That is what she 
longs, for. Her mother and brother are probably 
strict Jews." 

" I'll turn proselyte if she wishes it," S8|,id Hans^ 
with a shi'ug and a laugh. 

" Don't talk nonsense, Hans. I thought you pro- 
fessed a serious love for her," said Deronda, gettij^g 
heated. 

" So I do. You think it desperate, but I don't." 

"I know nothing; I can't tell what has hap 
pened. . We must be prepared for surprises. But 
I can hardly imagine a greater surprise to me 
jbhan.tl^at there should have seemed to be any- 
thing in Mirah's sentiments for yoii. to found a 
romantic hope on." Derondj^ felt that he was too 
contemptuous. 



BOOK v.— MORDECAI. 95 

"I don't found my roraantic hopes on a woman's 
sdntimentB," said Hans, perversely inclined to be 
the merrier when he was addressed with gravity^ 
"I go to science and philosophy for my romance. 
Natnre designed Mirah to ■ fell in love with ' me. 
The amalgamation of races demands it-*- the miti« 
gation of hmnan ugliness demands it — the affinity 
of contrasts assures it^ I am the utmost contrast 
to Mirah — a bleached Christian, who can't sing two 
notes in tune. Who has a chance against me ? " 

" I see now ; it was all persiflage. You don't 
mean a word *of what you say, Meyrick," said 
Deronda, laying his hand on Meyrick's shoulder, 
and speaking in a tone of cordial relief. ^' I was 
a wiseacre to answer you seriously." 

"Upon my honour I do mean it, though," said 
Hans, feeing round and laying his left hand on 
Deronda's shoulder, so that their eyes fronted each 
other closely. " I am at the confessional. I meant 
to tell you as soon as you came. My mother says 
you are Mirah's guardian, and she thinks' herself 
responsible to you for every breath that fells on 
Mirah in her house. Well, I love her — I worship 
her — I won't despair — I mean to deserve her." 

" My dear fellow, you can't do it," said Deronda, 
quickly. 

" I should have said, I mean to try." 

*' You can't keep your resolve, Hans. You used 
to resolve what you would do for your mother and 
sisters." 

**You have a right to reproach me, old fellow," 
said Hans, gently. 



96 DANIEL DEEONDA. 

"Perhaps I am uiigeuerons," said< Deronda, not 
apologetically, however. . " Yet it can^t be udgen- 
erons to wioni you that you are ixudulging mad, 
Quixotic expectations." 

"Who will be hurt but myself, then?" sftid Hans, 
putting out his lip. •" I am not going to Qnny any- 
thing to her, unless I ' felt sure of th^ atiswer. I 
dare not ask the oracles : I prefer a cheerful caligi- 
nosity, as Sir Thomas Browne might say. I. would 
rather run my chance there and lose, than -be sure 
of. winning anywhere else. And I don't .mean to 
swallow the poison of despair, thdtugh you are dis" 
posed ito thrust it on me. I am giving up wine, »o 
let me get a little drunk on hope and vanity." 

" With all my heart, if it will do you any good," 
said Deronda, loosing Hans's shoulder, with a little 
push. He made his tbne kindly, but his words were 
from the. lip only. As to his real, feeling he was 
silenced. 

He was conscious of that peculiar irritation whidi 
will sometimies befall the man whom others are in- 
clined to trust as a mentor — the irritation of perceiv- 
ing that he is supposed to be entirely off tiie same 
plaiie of desire and temptation as tliose who confess 
to him. Our guides, we pretend, must be sinless : 
as if those were not often the best teachers who 
only yesterday got corrected for their mistakes. 
Throughout their friendship Deronda had been 
used to Hans' s egotism^ but he had never before 
felt intolerant of it : when Hans, habitually pour- 
ing out his own feelings and affiiirs, had never cared 
for any detail in return, and, if he chanced to know 



BOOK V.~^MORDECAI. 97 

any, had soon forgotten it. Deronda had been in- 
wardly as well as outwardly indulgent — nay, satis^ 
fied. -But now he noted with some indignatioh, all 
the stronger because it must not be betrayed, Hans's 
evident .a'dsumption that for any danger of' -rivalry or 
jealousy in relation to lilirah, Deronda was as much 
out 6f the question as the angel GabrieL . It is : one 
thing to be resolute in placing one^s self out of th«e 
question, and another to endure that, others should 
perform that exclusion for us* ; He - Had expected 
that Hans would give him trouble: what he had 
not expeisted was that the trouble would have a 
strong element of personal feeling. And he- was 
iBther ashamed that.Hans's hopes caused him un- 
easiness in spite of his. well -warranted conviction 
that they would neveir be fiilfilled. iThey' had 
raised an' image ^f Mirah changfihg ; aadf^ however 
he might protbst that the change would not happen, 
the protest kept up the unpleasant imageu' Alto* 
^ether, poor Hans seemed to be entering intb De- 
ronda's experience in a dispioportionate maimer — ^ 
going beyond his part of i^esoued prddigaly and 
rousing a fedlirig quite distinct from compassion- 
ate aflFeotion: l 

When Deronda wemt to Chelsea; hi^ was not made 
as Qomfortablid as he ought to hiave. been by Mrs 
Meyrick*B evident release from [ anxiety about the 
beloved but incalculable son. Mrah seemed liirel- 
lier than b.eft)re, atid for the fmrti time he saw her 
laugh. * It was when they were talking of Hans, 
he being naturally the mother's first topic. Mirah 
Mrishe'd to know if Dei'onda had seen Mr Hans going 



"98 DANIEL DERONDA. ■ 

through a sort of character piece without changing 
his, dress. . • 

" He passes from one figure to another as if he 
were a bit of flame where you fainoied the figures 
without seeing them," said Mirah, fulli of her sub- 
ject;; '*he is so woriderfuUy quick, il used never 
to (like comic things on the stage— they were dwelt 
on too long ; but all in one minute Mr Hans i^akes 
himself a blind bardj and then Rienzi addressing the 
Romans, and' then an opera^Lancer, and then a de- 
sponding young gentleman — I am sorry for them 
all, and yet I laugh, all in one" — ^here Mirah gave 
a little laugh that might have entered into a song. 

f* We hardly thought that Mirah could langh till 
Hans came," said Mrs Meyrick, seeing that Deronda, 
like herself, was observing the pretty picture. 

*- Hans seems in great force just now," said De- 
ronda, inr<a tone of congratulation. ** I don*t wonder 
at his enlivening you." 

" He's been just perfect ever since he oame back," 
said Mrs Meyrick, keeping to herself the next clause 
-~.<*ifit will but last.*' 

" It is a great happiness," said Mjrah," to see the 
son and brother come into this dear hbme. And 
I hear them all talk about what they did togeUier 
when they were little. That seems like heaven, to 
have a mother and brother who talk in that way. 
I. have never had it." 

"Nor I,** said. Deronda, involuntafily. ■ ' 

" No ?^' said Mirah^ regretfully. "I wish you 

had. I wish you had had every good." The last 

'ords were uttered with a serious ardour as if they 



BOOK V. — ^MOEDEOAI. 99 

had been pdrt of a Htany, while her eyes : were fixed 
tfn Defonda, who with hi& elbow on the baok of hia 
chair was contemplating her by the new light of th«i 
impression she had made on Hans, and the possi- 
bility of her being attracted by that extraordinary 
contrast. It was no more than what had haj)pe|ned 
on each former visit of his, that Mirah appeared 
to enjoy speaking of what she felt very much as a 
little girl fresh from school pours forth spontanea 
ously all the long^epressed chat for which she has 
found willing ears. For the first time in her life 
Mirah was among those whom she entirely trusted, 
and her original visionary impression that Beironda 
was a divinely - sent messenger hung about his 
image stiD, stirring always anew the disposition to 
reliance and openness. It was in this" way she 
took what might have been ihe injurious flattery 
of admiring attention into which her helpless de- 
pendence had been suddenly transformed: everj^ 
one around her watched for her loioks and words, 
and the effect on her was simply that of haVing 
passed from a stifling imprisonment into an exhil- 
arating air which made speech and action a delight. 
To her mind it was all a gift from others' goodness. 
But that word of Derondi's implying that there had 
been some lack in his life which might be compared 
with anything she had known in hers, was. an en- 
tirely new inlet of thought about him. After her 
first expression of sorrowftil surprise she wenft on — 
" But Mr Hans said yesterday that you thought 
so much of otherti you hardly wanted anything for 
yourself. He told us a wonderful story of Bouddha 



160 DANIEL DERONDA. 

gtviiig himself to the famished tigrtos to save' hei^ 
aikd her little ones from eiarving. . And he said yoa 
were like Bonddha.* That- is what we all imagine 
of you." 

^ Pi-ay don't imagine that," said Deronda, who had 
lately been finding euoh fiiippoBitions rather exasper- 
ating. , ** Even if it were true that I thought so much 
of others, it would not follow that I had no wants- for 
myself. When Bouddha let the tigress eat him he 
might have been very hungry- himself*" 

" Perhaps if he was starved he would not mind so 
much about being eaten," said Mab, shyly. 

" Please don't think that, Mab ; it takes away the 
beauty of the action," said Mirah. 

" But if it were true, Mirah ? " said the rational 
Amy, having a half-holiday from her teaching ; *^you 
always take what is beautifril as if it were true." 

' " So it is," said Mirah, gently. " If people liave 
thought 'what is the most beautiful and the best 
thing, it must be true. It is always there*" 

" Now, Mirah, what do you mean ? " said Amy.' ■ 

" I understand her," said Deronda, coming to the 
rescue. " It is a truth in thought though it may 
never have been carried out In action. It- lives as 
an 'idea. Is that it?" Hfe turned to Mirahj who 
was listening with a blind look in her lovely eyes. 

" It must be that, because you und^erstand iiie, 
but I cannot: quite explain,'* said Mirah, rather 
abstractedly- — ^^still searching for some expression. • 

" Biib tms it beautiful for Bouddha to let the tiger 
eat him?" said Amy, changing her ground. *^It 
would be a bad pattern." 



BOOK V; — kMORDBCAI. 101 

' "^ The world would get- full of iat tigers,'' said Mab. 

Deiionda laughed, .but defended the myth. ^" It ia 
like a passionate word," he said ; " the exaggeration 
is a flash of fervour. It is an extreme image of 
what ia happening every day — the transmutation 
of mW 

"I think I qan say what I meauj now," said 
Mirah, who had not .he^rd the . intermediate talk; 
" When the best thing comes into our thoughts, it 
Ie lik^ what wi(y mother has been tb- me. She has 
been just as rpaliy with me as all the other people 
labput mie— often ftiore. really with me^" 

Deronda, inwardly wincing under this illustratibn, 
which brought other posaibte realities about . that 
mother vividly before him, presently, tiirned the; con- 
versation by ^saying,. ** Bait we must not get too far 
away from practical mattejss. I came, for' ope.thin^ 
to tell of an interview I had yesterday, wbach I hope 
Mirah will, find to have been useftil to her. ,It was 
with Klesmer, the great pianist." 

"Ah?" said Mrs MJeyrick,: with . satisfaetion. 
"You think he wiU help her?" 

" I hope so. He is very ni'neh occupied,; but has 
promised to fix a time for receiving and heftring 

Miss liapidcth, as we must learn ta call faer" 

here Deronda .Smiled at Mirah ;■ "if she oonsentfe 
to goto him." , ; > ;= i . • * 

"I shall be yery grateful," said Mirali, calmljl 
"He wants to hear me; sing,, before he ca». judge 
whether I ought to be helped," . , .: v 

Deronda was struck with her' plain sense about 
these matters of practical concern. 



102 DANIEL DERON^A. 

<'It will not be at' all tiTing to you, I ho]f)e, if 
Mrs Meyrick will kindly go witib ybu tbKiesmer's 
house." ■ ' 'i ' ' 

"Oh no, not at all trying. I have been dcnng 
that all my life— I mean, told to do things that 
others may judge of me. And I have gone through 
a bad trial' of that sort. I am preparbd to beir it, 
and do' some very small thing. Is Klcismer a sever© 
man?-". 

"He is peculiar, but I have not had- experience 
enougji of him to know whether he Would be whal 
you would call severe. I know he is kind-hearted 
-^kind in action, if not in speech." 
-' "I have been used to be frowned at ^ and riot 
praised," said Mirah. 

"By the by, Klesmer frowns a good deal,"* said 
Deronda, ^^but there is often a sort of smile in' hifi 
eyes all the while. Unhappily he wears spectacles, 
so ybu must catch him in the right light to see the 
smile." >' 

" I shall not be frightened," sdid Mirah. "If he 
were like a roaring lion, he only wants me to sing. 
I shall do what I cani^' 

" Thbii I feel sure you Will not mind being invited 
to sing in Lady Mallinger^s drawing-room,'' said 
Deronda. "She intends to sJak you next month, 
and will invite many ladies to hear you, who are 
likely to want lessons from you for their daughters." 

'^^ How fast we are motmting ! '* said Mrs Meyrick, 
with delight. " You neyer thought of getting graAid 
so quickly, Mirah." 

"I am a little- frightehed at being called Miss 



BOOK YJ MORDBOAI. 10i3 

Lapidoth," safd Miraih, colouring with a new uneasi- 
ness.* "Might I be called Oohen?'* . 

"I understknd you," said Ddronda, promptly* 
" But, I assure you, you must not be called Cohen. 
The name is inadmdssible for a singer. This is one 
of the trifles in which we must conform to vulgar 
prejudice. We could choose some other name, how- 
ever-— such, as singears ordinarily choose^ — an Italian 
or Spanish name, which would suit your ph^aiqzieJ* 
To Deronda justrtow the name Cohen was equiv^ 
alent to the ugliest of yellow badges*^ 

Mirah reflected ^ little, anxiously, then said, "iNa 
If Cohen vnU not do, I will keep the name I have 
been called by. I. will not hide myself. I have 
iriends t© protect me. And now^ — if my father were 
very miserable and wanted help — no," shei sAid, 
looking at Mrs Meyrick, *^ I should- think then, that 
he was perhaps <irying as I used' to see him, and 
had nobody io pity him, and I had hidden myself 
from him. He' had none belonging to him but me* 
Others that made friends with him always left him.'^ 

"Keep to what you feel right, my dear child," 
said Mrs Meyrick. '*/ would not persuade you to 
the contrary." For her own part she had no patieno© 
or pity for that- father^ and wbuld have left him to 
bis crying. 

Deronda was saying to himself, " I am rather baise 
to be angry with Sans, fibw can he help being in 
love with her? But it is too absurdly presumptuous 
for him even to feame the idea of appropriating her, 
and a sort of blasphemy tor siippose that she could 
possibly give ' herself to him*" 



104 J DANIEL DEEONDA. 

* What would it be far Daniel Deronda to entertain 
such thoughts ? He was not one who could qiii^e 
naively introduce himself where he had just excluded 
his friend, yet it was undeniable that what; had just 
happened made a; new stage in Ms feeling towstrds 
Mirkh. But apart from other grounds for self-repres- 
sion^ reasons both definite and . : vagu0 made him 
shut away that question as he might hav^ shut up 
a half-opened writing that would have carried his 
imagination too far and given too much shape to 
presentiments* Might there suot dome a disoloiaiure 
wMch would hold the missing determination of his 
course? What did he really know about his origin? 
Strangely in these, latter mionths when it seemed 
uight that he should exert ihis will in the choice of 
a destination, the passion of his nature had got more 
and more looked by rthis uncertainty. The discldstire 
might bring .its pain, indeed the likelihood seemed 
to him to be all on that side ; but if it helped hini to 
make his life a sequence which would take, the fbirm 
of duty— if it saved him fr<bm having . to make an 
arbitrary selection where he felt no. preponderance 
of desire ? Still more he wanted to escape standing 
as a critic outsidiB the activities- of men, stiffened 
into the ridiculous attitude of self-assigned superi- 
oiity. His chief tether was his early inwrought 
affection for Sir Hugo, making him gratefully defer- 
ential to wishes with which h^ had little agreement ; 
but giwtitude had been sometimes disturbed ^y 
doubts which were near reducing it to a fear of 
being ungrateful. Many of us complain that half 
our birthright is sharp duty : Deronda was more 



BOOK V. MORDKCAI. 105 

inclined to conij^ain that he was rdbbed- of this half; 
yet he accused himself, as he would have accused 
another, of being weakly self-ooiUBcious -and wanting 
in resolve. • He was the reverse of that type painted 
for us in Faulconbridge and Edmund of Gloster, 
whose coarse ambition for personal success is in- 
flamed by a defiance of accidental disadvantages. 
To Daffiiel the words Father and Mother had the 
altar*fire in them ; and tiie thought of all closest 
relations of our eature held still something of the 
mystic power which had made his neck and ears 
bum in boyhood. The average man may regard 
this sensibility on the question of birth as preposter- 
ous and hardly credible ; but with the utmost respect 
for his knowledge as the rock from which all other 
knowledge is hewn, it must be admitted that many 
well-proved facts are dark to the average man, even 
concerning the actiou of his own heart and the 
structure of his own retina. A century ago he 
and all his forefathers had not had the slightest 
notion of that electric discharge by means of which 
they had all wagged their tongues mistakenly; any 
more than they were awake to the secluded anguish 
of exceptional sensitiveness into which many a care- 
lessly-begotten child of man is bom. 

Perhaps the ferment was all the stronger in De- 
ronda's mind because he had never had a confidant 
to whom he could open himself on these delicate 
subjects. He had always been leaned on instead of 
being invited to lean. Sometimes he had longed 
for the sort of friend to whom he might possibly un- 
fold his experience : a young man like himself who 



106 DANIEL DERONDA. 

sustained a private grief and was not too confident 
about his own career ; speculative enough to under- 
stand every moral difficulty, yet socially susceptible, 
as he himself was^ and having every outward sign 
of equality either in bodily or spiritual wrestling; — 
for he had found it impossible to reciprocate confi- 
dences with, one who looked up to Iubeu But he had 
no expectation of meeting the friend he imagined. 
Deronda*s was not one of those qiiiveringly-^oised 
natutes that lend themselves to sec/ond-sight. 



107 



CHAPTEK XXXVIII. 



^erebe who hold that the deeper tragedy were a ProIneth^us Botmd 

not after but hefort he had well got the celestial fire into the vif^t^ where- 
by it might be conveyed to inortals : thrust by the Kratos and Bia of in- 
gtltuted methods into a solitade oX denpi&ed ideas, fastened i|i throbbiiig 
helplessness by the fatal pressure of poverty and disease— a solitude where 
many pass by, but none ivgard. 



" Second - stttHT " is a flag over disputed ground. 
But it is matter of Imo^rledge that there are persons 
whose yearnings, conceptions — tiay, travelled con* 
elusions — continually take the form of images which 
have a foreshadowing power : the deed they would 
do starts up before them in complete shape, making 
a coercive type ; tiie event they hunger for or dread 
rises into vision with a seed -like growth, feeding 
itself fest on unnumbered impressions. They are 
not always the less capable of the argumentfetive 
process, nor less sane than the commonpUce cal- 
culators of the market: sometimes it may be that 
their natures have manifold openings, like the hun- 
dred-gated Thebes, where there may naturally be a 
greater and more miscellaneous inrush than through 
a narrow beadle-watched portal. ' No doubt there are 
abject specimens of the visionary, as there- is a minim 



108 DANIEL DERONDA. 

mammal which you might imprison in the finger of 
your glove. That small relative of the elephant has 
no harm in him ; but what great mental or social 
type is free from specimens whose insignificance is 
both ugly and noxious ? One is afraid to think of 
all that the genus " patriot " embraces ; or of the 
elbowing there might be at the day of judgment for 
those who ranked as authors, and brought volumes 
either in their haiids or on trucks. 

This apology for inevitable kinship is meant to 
usher in some facts about Mordecai, whose figure 
had bitten itself into Deronda's mind as a new ques- 
tion which he felt an interest in getting answered. 
But the interest was no more than a vaguely-expecr 
tant suspense : the consumptive-looking Jew, appa- 
rently a fervid student of some kind, getting hi& crust 
by a quiet handicraft, like Spinoza, fitted into none 
of Deronda's antiqipatiqns. 

• It was. otherwise with the efiect of their meeting 
on Mordecai. Ftor many winters, while he had been 
conscious of. an ebbing physical life, and a widening 
spiritual loneliness, all his passionate desire bad 
concentred itself in the yearui^ig fpr some young 
ear into which he could pour his mind as a testa- 
ment, some soul kindred enough to accept the spirit- 
ual product of, his own brief, paiirful life, as a mission 
to be executed. It wa^ remarkable that the hopeful- 
ness which is often . the beneficent illusion of con- 
sumptive patients, was in Mordepai wholly diverted 
from the prospect of bodily recovery and |3arri^d into 
the current of this yearning for transmission. The 
yearning, wjiich had panted upwaTd from out of over- 



BOOK V. MORDEOAI. 109 

TFiielmiiig diBcouragemeni^ had grown into a hope 
-+-the hope into a confident belief which, instead 
of being- checked by the clear conception he had of 
his hastening decline, took rather the intensity of 
expectant faith in a prophecy which has only brief 
space to get folfiUed in. 

Some years had now gone sinoe he had first be-» 
gun to measure men with a keen glance, search* 
ing for a possibility which became more and more 
a distinct conoeption^ Snch distinctness as it had 
at first was reached' chiefly by a method of con-, 
traifet : he wanted to find a man who differed from 
himself. Tracing reasons in that self for the re* 
buffB he had met with and- the hindrances that 
beset him, he imagined- a toan who would have all 
th^ elements necessary for sympathy with hiih, 
bnt in an embodiment nnlike his own : he must 
be a Jew, imtellectttally cultured, morally fervid-^ 
in all' thi« a nature ready to.be plenished from 
Mordecai's ; but his face and frame must be beautii- 
ful and strong,' he must have been used to all the 
reAiements of social lifej his voice must flow with 
a full and easy current^ • his circumstances be free 
fh>m Sordid need : he must glorify the possibilities 
of th^ Jew, not sit and wander as Mordecai did, 
b€iaring the staithp of his people amid the signs of 
poverty and waning breath. ' Sensitive to physical 
chAraCteti sties, he had, both abroad and in England, 
looked at pictures as well as men, and in a vacant 
hour he had sometimes lingered in the National 
Gallery in search of paintings which might feed 
his hopefulness with grave hi\d noble types df the 



110 DANIEL DEKONDA. 

humfen form, snoh as might well belong to ineh.lof 
his own race. But he returned in disappointment. 
The instances are scattered but tlrinly over the 
galleries of Europe, in v^hioh the fortimei or seleoi 
tion even of the chief masters haa giren to Art a 
face at once young, grand, and beautiful, where, 
if therid is any melancholy, it is nb feeble passiv- 
ity, but enters into the foreshadowed capability of 
heroism- <» • 

, Some observant persons may perhaps remember 
his emaciated figure, and dark eyes deep in their 
sockets, as he stood in front of a picture that had 
touched him either to new or habitual meditation : 
he commonly wore a cloth cap with black fux round 
it, which no painter would have asked him to . take 
off. But spectat<>r8 would be likely to think of him 
as an odd -looking. Jew„ who probably got money 
out of pictures; and Mordeoai, when he noticed 
them, was perfectly aware of the impreasiosa he 
made. Experience had rendered him morbidly alive 
to the effect of a man's poverty and other physical 
disadvantages in cheapiening his ideas, unless they 
are those of a Peter the Hermit who has a tocsin 
for the rabble. But he was too sdine and generous 
to attribute his spiritual banishment solely to the 
excusable prejudiced of others : certain incapacities 
bf his own h^d made the sentence of exclusion; 
and hence it was that his imagination had con- 
structed another man who would be something 
more ample than the. second soul bestowed, ao- 
k5ording to the notion of the Cabbalists, to help 
out the insufficient first — ^who would be a bloom- 



BOOK V. — MORDBGAI. HI 

ing human life, ready to iheorpoiate all. that was 
worthiest in an existence whose visible, palpable 
part was burning itself fast away. His inwaud 
need for the conception of this expanded, prolonged 
seK was reflected as an outward necessity.. The 
thoughts of his heart (that, ancient phrase best 
shadows the truth) seemed tO' him too precious, too 
closely inwoven with the growth of things not to 
have a further destiny. And ^s the more beauti- 
ful, the stronger, the more exeoutive self took shape 
in his mind, he loved it beforehand with w^ afiegtion 
half identifying, half contemplative and grateful. 

Mordecai's mind wrought so constantly in images, 
that his coherent trains of thought often resembled 
the significant dreams attributed to sleepers by wak- 
ing persons in their most invemtive moments <; nay, 
they often resembled genuine dreams in . their way 
of breaking off the passive from the known to the 
unknown. Thus> for a long while, he habitually 
thought of the Being answering to his need as one 
distantly approaching or turning his back towards 
him, darkly painted against a golden sky. The 
reason of the golden sky lay in one of' Mordecai's 
habits. He was keenly alive to SQme. poetic as- 
pects of London ; and a favourite resort of hia, whe^ 
strength and leisure allowed, was to some one of 
the bridges, especially about sunrise or sunset. 
Even when he was bending o\«er' watch-wheels and 
trinkets, or seated in a small- upper room looking 
out on dingy bricks and dingy cracked, windows, 
his imagination, spontaneously planted him on some 
spot where he had a far -stretching scene; has 



112 DAOTEL DEEONBA. 

thouglit Went on in = wide spaces ; and whenever 
he could, he tried' to have in reality the iiifaehcos 
of a large sky. Leaning on the, parapet of Black- 
friars ' Bridge, and gazing meditatively, the breiadth 
and calm of the i^i ver, with its ilong Vista .half heiZy, 
half luminous, the grand dim masses or tall forms 
of buildings which we:re' the signs of tvrori(i.o<rjin. 
m'erce, the oncoming of boats arid barges fropa the 
still distance into sound and colour, entered into 
hie mood and blent iiiemselves indistinguishably 
with his thinking, as a' fine symphony -to which 
we can hatdly be mid to listen makeis a meJdiuni 
thfe^t bears up our spiritual wingft^ Thus it Hap- 
pened thfet the figure representative of MordeclJai's 
Iduging was mentally seen darkened by the exoeiSd 
of light in the ae^rial background. But in the in* 
evitable progress bi" his imagination towards 'fillet 
detail, he ceased to ^ee the figure wilii its back 
towards him. It began to advance, and a Ikce 
became discernible ; the Wdrds youthj beauty, re- 
finement, Jewish birth, noble gravity,: turned into 
hardly individual but' typical form and coloui* : 
gathered from: his memory of feces s^en among 
the JeWHi of Holland and Bohemia, ia.nd from the 
J)aintings Which revived that membty. 'Keverently 
let it be said of this mature spiritu!al need that it 
was akiii to the boy's and girl's picturing of the 
tutiire beloved ; but the stirrings of such young 
desire are feeble compared with the passionate dtiiV 
rent of a,n ided life strfeiining to embody itself^' made 
intense bj^ resistance to imminent dissolution. The 
visionary foriii became a companion and auditor ; 



BOOK V. MOBDBCAI. »ii'3 

keeping a place not only in the waking ipoiagina^ 
tioti, but in those dreams of lighter slumber of 
which it 18' truest to say, " I sleep, but my heart 
waketh " — when the disturbing trivial story of yes- 
terday is charged with the impassioned purposes of 
yearsj t 

Of latei the tirgency oif irredeemable time, measured 
by the gradual. ch6king of life, had tuifued Mordeoai*s 
trust into an agitated watch fbr the fulfilment that 
must be at hand. Was the bell on the verge of toll- 
iikg, the sentence about to be executed? The de- 
liverer's footstep must be near — ^the deliverer who 
was to rescue Mordecai's spiritual, travail from obliv- 
ion^ and give it an abiding place in the ' best heri- 
tage of his people. An insane exaggeration of his 
own value, even if his ideas had been as true and 
precious as those of Columbua or Newton, many 
would have counted this yearpiing, taking it as the 
sublimer part for a man to say, " If not I, then aur 
other," and to hold cheap the meaning of his own 
life. But the fuller nature desires to be an agent, 
to create, and not merely to look on : strong love 
hungers to bless, and not merely to behold blessing. 
And while there is warmth enough in the sun to feed 
an energetic life, th^re will_ still be mein to feel, " I 
am lord' of this moment's change, and will charge it 
with my soul," 

But with that mingling of inconsequence which 
belongs to us all/ and not unhappily, since it saves 
us from many effects of mistake, Jlordeoai's confl- 
denbe in the friend to come did not suflSce to make 
him pafijsive, and he tried expedients, pathetically 



114 DANIEL DERONDA. 

humble, such as happened to be withiu his reach, 
for communicating Something of himself. It was 
now two years since he had taken up his abode 
under E2ara Cohen's roof, where he was regarded 
with much goodwill as a compound of workman, 
dominie, vessel of charity, inspired idiot, man of 
piety, and (if he were inquired into) dangerous 
heretic. During that time Kttle Jacob had' ad- 
vanced into knickerbockers, and into that quick- 
ness of apprehension which has been already made 
manifest in relation to hardware and exchange. He 
had also advanded in attachment to Mordecai, re- 
gai*ding him as an inferior, but liking him none the 
worse, and taking his helpfiil cleverness as he might 
have taken the services of an enslaved Djinn. As 
for Mordecai, he had given Jacob his first lefisons, 
and his habitual tenderness easily turned into the 
teacher's fatherhood. Though he was fuUy con- 
scious of the spiritual distance between the parents 
and himself, and; would never have attempted any 
xjommunication to them from his peculiar world, the 
boy moved him with that idealising afifection which 
merges the qualities of the individual child in the 
glory of childhood and the possibilities of a long 
future. And this feeling had drawn him on, at first 
without premeditation, and afterwards with con- 
scious purpose, to a sort of outpouring in the ear of 
the boy whidi might have seemed wild enough" to 
any excellent man of business who overheard it. 
But none overheard when Jacob went up to Moi> 
d^c^i's room on a day, for example, in which there 
was little work to be done, or at an hour when the 



BOOK V.tT— MORDEOAI. 115 

work was ended, and after a brief lesson iu En^ish 
reading or in numeration, was induced to remain 
standing at Oiis teacher's knees, oi^ cbose to jump 
astride tbem, often to the patient fatigue of the 
wasted limbs. The inducement was perhapft the 
mending of a toy, or some little meclianical device 
in which Mordecai^s well-practised finger-tips had an 
exceptional skill ; and with the boy thus tethered, 
he would begin to repeat a Hebrew poem of his own, 
into which years before he had poured his fi^rst youtlir 
fill ardours for that conception of a blended past and 
&ture which was the mistress of his soul, tellii;^ 
Jacob to sa^r the words a&&i him. 

"The boy will get them engraved within him," 
thought Mordeoai ; " it is a way of printing*" 

None readier. than Jacob at this fascinating game 
of imitating unintelligible words ; and if \ao oppos^- 
ing diversion occurred, he would sometimes carry oii 
his share in it as long as the teacher's breath would 
last out. For Mordecai threw into each repetition 
the fervour befitting a sacred occasion. In such 
instances, Jacob would show no other distracftion 
than reaching out and surveying the contents of 
his pockets ; or drawing down the skin of his cheeks 
to make his eyes look awful, and rolling his head to 
complete the effect ; or alternately handling his oifirii 
nose aiitd Mordecai' s as if to test the relation of their 
masses. Under aU this the fervid reciter- would not 
pause, satisfied if the young organs of speech would 
submit themselves. But most commonly a sudden 
impulse sent Jacob leaping away into some antic 
or active amusement, when, instead of following the 



116- DANIEL DEEONDA. 

reoitatidn, lie wotild return u^fnon the Jbregoing, words 
most ready to his tongue, and mouiii. or fgabble,: with, 
a. ii6fe-saw suited to the action of his i limbs, a vears©! 
on which Mbrdeoai had spent some of hie too scanty 
heart's blood. Yet he waited with such patience as a 
prophet needd, and began his strange printii;ig ^igem 
utidiscouraged on the morrow, eaying inwardly- — ; 
•■' "My words may rule him some day. -Their mean- 
ing may flash out om him. It is so; with ^ i«ation— 
alter > many days." ' . 

Meanwhile Jacob's sense of power w^s indreased 
and bis time enliviened by a store of magical articu- 
lation with which he made the baby erow, '©r drove 
the large' cat into' -a dark corner, or promised himself 
to frighten any incidental Christian of his own years* 
One week he had unfortunately seen asfereet mounte- 
bank, and this carried off his mus<fcular imitativetiefis 
in sad divergence from New Hebrew poetry after the 
model of Jehuda ha-Levi. Mordecai had arrived iat 
a fresh passage in his poem ; for as soon as Jacob 
had got well used to one portion, he w*b led on to 
another, and a fresh combination of sonnds gener- 
ally answered better in keeping him fast for a few 
minutes. The consumptive vpicey originally a strong 
high baritone with its variously mingling hoarseness, 
like a haze amidst illuminations, and its occasional 
incipient gasp, haS more than the usual excitement, 
while it gave forth Hebrew verses with a meaning 
something like this :-— 

•' Away from me the garment of forgetfulness, 
Withering t]ie heart ; 

The oil and wine from presses of the Goyim, 
Poisoned with scorn. 



book: v. — ^MOEDBCAI. 117 

Solitude is 00 the sides of Mount Ne1>o, 

In its heart a tomb : 

There the buried ark and golden cherubim 

Make hidden light : 

There the solemn faces gaze unchanged, 

The wings are spread unbroken : 

Shut beneath in silent awful Speech 

The Law li^s graven. 

Solitude and darkness are my covering, 

And my heart a tomb ; 

Smite and shatter it, O Gabriel ! • 

Shatter it as the clay of the founder 

Around the golden image." 

In the absorbii]^ enthusiasm with which Mordecai 
had intoned rather than spoken this last invocation, 
he was xmconscious that Jacob had ceased to follow 
him and had. started away from hi8« knees; but . 
pausing he saw, as by a sudden flash, that the lad 
had thrown himself on his hands with his; feet in 
the air, mountebank fashion, andi was picking up. 
wilii his lips a bright ferthiiag which- was a favourite 
among his pocket treasures. This might have been 
reckoned among the tricks Mordecai was. used to, 
but'. at this raoihent it jari'ed him horribly, as if it 
had been a Satanic grin upon his prayer. 

" Child ! child ! " he called out with a strange cry 
that startled Jacob to his feet, and then he sank 
backward with a shudder, closing his eyes. 

*'What?" said Jacob, quickly. Then, not get* 
ting an immediate answer, he pressed Mordeeai's 
knees with a shaking movement, in order to rouse 
him. Mordecai opened his eyes with a fierce ex- 
pression in them, leaned forward, grasped the little 
shoulders, and said in a qtlick, hoarse whisper-^ 

"A curse is on your generation, child. They will 



118 DANIEL DERONDA. 

open the mountain and drag forth the golden wings 
and coin them into money, and the solemn faces 
they will break up into ear-rings for wanton women ! 
And they shall get themselves a new name, but the 
angel of ignominy, with the fiery brand, shall know 
them, and their heart shall be the tomb of dead 
desires that turn their life to rottenness," 

The aspect and action of Mordeoai were so new 
and mysterious to Jacob — they carried such a 
burthen of obscure threat — it was as if the patient, 
indulgent companion had turned into soniething 
unknown and terrific : the sunken dark eyes and 
hoarse accents close to him, the thin grappling 
fingers, shook Jacob's little frame into awe, and 
while Mordecai was speaking he stood trembling 
with a sense that the house was tunibling in luid 
, they were not going to have dinner any more. But 
when the terrible speech had ended and the pinch 
was relaxed, the shock resolved itself inix> tears ; 
Jacob lifted up his smaU patriarchal oountenaiioe 
and wept aloud. This sign of childish grief atoxkce 
recalled Mordecai to his usual gentle self: he was 
not able to speak again at present, but ' with a 
maternal action he drew the curly -head towards 
him and pressed it tenderly against his breast. , On 
this Jacob, feeling the danger wellnigh over, howled 
at ease, beginning to imitate his own performance 
and improve upon it — a sort of transition from im- 
pulse into art often observable. Indeed, the next 
day he undertook to terrify Adelaide Bebekah in 
like manner, and succeeded very well. , 

But Miordecai suffered a check which lasted long, 



BOOK V. MbRDlfcCAI. 119 

frofifl tlie consciousness of a misapplied agitation ; 
sane as well as excitable, he judged sisVerely his 
moments of aberration into ftitile eagerness, and felt 
discredited with himself. All the more liis mind 
was strained towards ihe discernment of that friend 
to come, with wliom he would have a calm certainty 
of fellowship and understanding. 

It was just then thatj in his nsnal mid -day 
guardianship bf the old book- shop, he was struck, ^ 
by the appearance of Deronda, and it' is perhaps^ '*^ 
comprehensible now why Mordecai's glance took 
on a sudden eager interest as he looked at the 
new-comer : he saw a face* and frame which seemed 
to him to realise the long-^sonceived type. But the 
disclaimer of Jewish birth was for the moment a 
backward thrust of double severity, the particular 
disappointment tending to shake his confidence in 
the more' indefinite expectation. Nevertheless, when 
he found Deronda seated at the Cohens' table, the 
disclaimer was for the moment nullified : the first 
impression returned with added force,* sieeming to 
be guaranteed by this second meeting under circum- 
stances more peculiar than the former ] and in ask- 
ing Deronda if he knew Hebrew, Mordecai was so 
poesessed by the new inrtfsli of belief, that he had 
forgotten the absence of any other condition to the 
falfilment of his hopes. But the answering " No '* 
struck them all down again, and the frustration was 
more painftilr than before. After turning his back 
on the visitor that Sabbath evening, Mdrdecai went 
through days of a deep discburagement, like that of 
men on a.ddomed ship, who, having strained their 



120 DANIEL DERONDA. 

eyes after a sail, and beheld it with rejoicing,, b€jjK)ld 
it never ^.dvance, and say, " Our sick, eyes mafee it." 
But the long-contemplated figure had. come as an 
emotional sequence of Mordecai's firmest theoretic 
convictions ; . it had been wrought from the imagery 
of his most passionate life ; apd it inevitably re- 
appeared — reappeared ' in a. more specific self^assert- 
ing form than ever. Deronda had that sort of 
resemblance to the preconceived type which a finely 
individual bust or portrait has to the more general- 
ised copy left in our minds after a long interval : we 
renew our memory with delight, but we hardly know 
with how much correction. And now, his face met 
Mordecai's inward gaze as if it had always belonged 
to the awaited friend, raying out, moreover, some of 
that influence which belongs to breathing flesh ; till 
by-and-by it seemed that discouragement had turned 
into a new obstinacy of resistance, and the ever* 
recurrent vision had the force of an outward call to 
disregard counter -evidence, and keep expectation 
awake. It was Deronda now who was seen in the 
often painful, night-watches, when we are all liable 
to bo held with the clutch of a single thought — 
whose figure, never with its back turned, was seen 
in moments of soothed reverie or soothed dozing, 
painted on that golden sky which was the doubly 
blessed symbol of advancing day and of approach- 
ing rest. 

Mordecai knew that the nameless, stnanger was 
to come and redeem his ring ; and, in spite of con- 
trary chances, the wish*to see him again was grow- 
ing into a belief that he should see him. In the 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 121 

January weeks, he felt an increasing agitation of 
that subdued hidden quality which hinders nervous 
people from any steady occupation on the eve of an 
anticipated change. He could not go on with his 
printing of Hebrew on little Jacob's mind ; or with 
his attendance at a weekly club, which was another 
effort of the same forlorn hope : something else was 
coming. The one thing te lodged fpr was to get 
as £ar as the river, which he could do but seldom 
and with difficulty. He yearned with a poet's 
yearning for the wide sky, the far-reaching vista 
of bridges, the tender .and fluctuating lights on the 
water which seems to breathe with a life that can 
shiver and mourn, be comforted and rejoice. 



/OL ri. 



122 



CHAPTER XXXTX. 



" Vor den Wissenden sich sfelleu " 

Sichep ist'e in alien Fallen I . 
Wenn du lange dich gequalet 
Weiss er gleich wo dir es fehlet ; 
Auch afif BelfliU darfst da lK)fren, : • 
Denn er weiss wo du's getroffen." 

-~G<>bthe: WestibsUidiier DivaUk 



Momentous things happened to Deronda the very 
evening of that visit to the small house at Chelsea, 
when there was the discussion about Mirah's public 
name. But for the family group there, what ap- 
peared to be the chief sequence connected with it 
occurred two days afterwards. About four o'clock 
wheels paused before the door, and there came one 
of those knocks with an accompanying ring which 
serve to magnify the sense of social existence in 
a region where the most enlivening signals are 
usually those of the muffin-man. All the girls were 
at home, and the two rooms were thrown together 
to make space for Kate's drawing, as well as a great 
length of embroidery which had taken the place of 
the satin cushions — a sort of pi^ce de resistance in 
the courses of needlework, taken up by any clever 
fingers that happened to be at liberty. It stretched 



BOOK V. MORI>EC!A.I. 128 

aoroBS the front room picturesquely enough, Mrs 
Meyrick bending over it at one comer, Mab in the 
middle, and Amy at the other end. Mirah, whose 
perftmnaziceB in point of sewing were on the make- 
sfaift leTel of the tailor4)ird's,'her education in that 
branch having been much neglected, was acting 
as reader to the party, seated on a camp-stool; in 
which position she also served Kate as model for a 
title-page vignette, symbolising a fi^ir public ab- 
sodbed in the successive volumes of the Family 
Tea-table. She was giving forth with charming 
distinctness the delightful Essay of Elia, " The Praise 
of Chimney- Sweeps," and all were smiling over the 
"innocent blacknesses," when the imposing knock 
and ring called their thou^ts to loftier spheres, 
and they looked up in wooiderment. 

*^ Dear me ! " said Mrs Meyrick ; " can it be Lady 
Mallinger ? Is there a grand carriage, Amy ? " 

** No — only a hansom cai). It must be a gentle^ 
man." < 

" The Prime Minister, I should think," said Kate, 
dxily. *^Han8 says the greatest man in London 
Toa&j get into a hansom cab.'- 

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried Mab. "Suppose it should 
be Lord Russell!" 

.The ^"^e bright faces were all looking amused 
when the old inaid-servant bringing in a card dis- 
tractedly, left iiie parlour-dofor open, and ^ there was 
seen bbwing towards Mrs Meyrick a figure quite 
unlike that' of the respected Piremier — tall arid 
physically impressive even in his kid and kersey- 
mere, with massive face, flamboyant hair, and gold 



124 . DANIEL DERONDA. 

spectg^les : in fact, aa Mre Meyriok saw from the 
CBxdf,Julttts Klesmer, 

Even embarrassment could hardly have made the 
" little mother " awkward, but quiqk in her percep- 
tions she was, at once dware bf thei situation, tod 
felt well satisfied' that, ibid great personlage had 
come to Mirah instead ,of requiring her to come to 
him; taking it as a sign of active interest. But 
when he entered, the rooms shrank into closete, the 
ootta^ piano, Mab thought, seemed a ridiculous 
toy, and the entire family existence as pWty and 
private as an establishment of mice in the Tuileiies. 
Klesmer' 8 personality, especially his way of glanc* 
ing round him, immediately suggested vast «reias 
and . a multitudinpus audience, and probably they 
made the usual scenery of his consoiotiBiless, for we 
all of us carry on our thinking in e^ome habitual 
locus where there is a presence of other souls, and 
thoae who take in a larger sweep ithan their neigh- 
bours are apt to seem mightily vain and affected* 
Klesmer was vain, but not more so than ifaa^y con- 
temporaries of heavy aspect, whose vanity leaps out 
and startles one like a i^ear out of a walking-stiofc ; 
as to his carriage and gefetures, these were as nat- 
ural to him as the length of his. fingers ; and. I^e 
i-ankest affectation he could have shown would have 
been: to look difiBdent and demure. While his gran^ 
diose air was making Mab feel herseilf a ridiculoas 
tc^ to match the cottage piano, he was taking in 
the details around him with a keei; and thoroughly 
kind sensibility. He remembered a home no larger 
than this on the outskirts .of Bohemia ; and in the 



BOOK v. MORDECAI. 126 

figurative Bohemia too he had had large acqilaint- 
anoe with the variety and romance, which belong 
to small incomes. He addressed Mrs Meyriok with 
the utmost deference. 

"I hope I have not taken too great a freedoiii. 
Being in the neighbourhood, I ventured to : i^ve 
time, by caUing. . Owe fiiend Mr Deronda mentioned 
to m)B an understanding that I was to have the 
honour of becoming acquainted with a young lady 
here — Miss Lapidoth." 

Elesmer had really discerned Mirah in the first 
moment of entering, but with subtle politeness he 
looked round bowingly at the three sisters as if 
he were uncertain which was the young lady in 
question* 

** Those are my daughters : this is Miss Lapi- 
doth," said Mrs Meyricfc, waving her hand towards 
Mirah. 

" Ah," said Klesmer, in a tone of gratified expec- 
tation, turning a radiant smile and deep bow to 
Mirah, who, instead of being in the least taken by 
surprise, had a calm pleasure in her face. She 
liked the look of Klesmer, feeling sure that he 
would scold her, like a great musician and a kind 
man. 

" You will not object to beginning our acquaint- 
ance by singing to me," he added, awane that 
they -would all be relieved by getting rid of pre^ 
liminaries. 

" I shall be very glad. It is good of you to be 
willing to listen to me," said Mirah, moving to the 
piano. "Shall I accompany myself?" 



126 DANIEL DERONDA. 

:*'By all means," said: fKlesmer, seating himself, at 
Mrs Meyricfc's invitation, where he could ha\«© a 
good view of 4;he singer. The acnte ■ little morther 
would not have acknowledged the weakness, but 
she really said to herself, " He will like her singing 
better if he sees her." ' ' ■< 

All the. feminine hearts except Mirah's were beat* 
ing fast with anxiety, thinking 'Klesmer terrific as 
hfe sat- with his listening frown t)n, and only daring 
to look at him furtively. K he did feay anything 
severe it would be so hard for them all. They 
oduld only comfort themselves with' thinking that 
Prince Camaralzaman,; who had heard the fiilest 
things, preferred Mirah's sin^ng ta any other : — 
also she appeared to be doing her very best, as if 
she Were more instead of' less at ease that lisuaL 

The ;song she had chosen was a fine setting of 
some words selected from Leopardi's grand Ode to 
Italj:— 

, ' "0 patria miay vedo le rnvra e gli ^vM 
E le colonne e i mnidacri e Verme 
Torri degli amiiostH'*-^ 

This was recitative : then followed-7- 
' * Ma la gloria non vedQ * V- 

a mournful melody, a rhythmic plaint. After this 
came a climax of devout triumph — passing from 
the subdued adoration of a happy Andante in the 
words^— ' 

" Beatissimi voi, 
Che offriste il petto alle nemiche Umce 
Per amor di co^tei che al sd vi diede " — 

to the joyous outburst of an exultant Allegro in — 



BOOK V. MOEDECAI. 137 

** Qh 'iriv<i'f oh viva: 
Beatissimi voi 
Mentre net mondo si/aveUi o scriva." 

When she had ^nded, Klesmer said after a mo- 
ment — 

"That is Joseph Leo's music." 

^' Yes, he was my last master ~ at Vienna : so 
fierce and so good," said Mirah, with a melancholy 
fflnile. " He prophesied that • my voice would not 
do for the stage. And he was right." 

" Continue, if you please," said Klesmer, putting 
out his lips and shaking his long fingers, while he 
went on with a smothered articulation quite unin- 
telligible to. the audience. 

The three girls detested him unanimously for not 
saying one word of praise. Mrs Meyrick was a. little 
alarmed. 

Miraii, simply bent on doing what Klesmer desined^ 
and imagining that he would now like to hear her 
sing some Grerman, went through Prince RadzivilFs 
music to Grretchenls aongs in the ^ Faust,' one after 
the other, without any. interrogatory pause. When 
she had finished he rose and walked to the extreme 
ity of the small space at command, then walked 
back to the piano, where Mirah had risen froni her 
seat and stood looking towards him with her little 
handB crossed befere her^: meekly awaiting 'judg- 
ment ; th^n with a suddeA unknitting of his brow 
and with beaming eyes, he put out his haiad and 
said abruptly, " Let us shake hinds : you are a 
musician." ' i ' 

Mab felt herself beginning to cry, and all the 



125 DANIEL DERONDA. 

three girls held Klesmer adorable. Mrs Meyrick 
took a long breath. 

But straightway the frown came again, the long 
handy back uppermost, was stretched out in, quite 
a different sense to touch with finger-tip the back 
of Mirah's, and with protruded lip heisaidr— ' 

" Not for great tasks. No high roofs. We are no 
skylarks. .. We must be modest." Klesmer paused 
here. And Mab ceased to think him adorable.: 'as 
if Mirah had shown the least sign .of conceit ! ' 

Mirah . was silent, knowing ■ that there was a 
i^eoific opinion to he waited foil, and Klesmer 
presently went on — 

"I would not advise — I would not further your 
singing in any lai^ers space than a priyate drawing- 
room. But you will do there. Ahd here in London 
that is one of the best careers open. Lessons will 
follow. Will you come and sing at a private concert 
at my house on Wednesday ? " 

" Oh, I shall be grateful," said Mirah, putting her 
hands together devoutly. " I would rather get my 
bread iu that way than by anything more public. 
I will try to improve. What should I work at 
most?'' ■'. / ' 

Klesmer made a preliminary answer in noises 
which sounded like words bitten in two and swal- 
lowed before they were half out) shaking his fingers 
the while, before h^ said, quite distinctly, " I shall 
introduce you to Astorga : he- is the foster-father of 
good singing and will give you advice." Then ad- 
dressing Mrs Meyrick, he added, " Mrs Klesmer will 
call befoi^e Wednesday, with your permission." 



BOOK V. MOEDECAI. 129 

"We shall feel that to be a great kindness,'^ said 
Mrs Meyrick. 

"You will sing to her," said Klesmer/ turning 
again to Mirah. "She is . a thorough' musician, 
and has a soul with more ears to it tban ydU will 
often get in a musician. Your singing will teatiaf j 
her : — f 

* Vor den Wiasenden sicb stellen ; ' 

you know the rest ? " 

" * Sicher ist's in alien Fallen,' " 

said Mirah, promptly. And Klesmer saying * * SobSnt I " 
put out his hand again as a good-bye. 

He had certainly chosen the' most -delicate way of 
praising Mirah, and the Meyrick girls had now. given 
him all their esteem. But imagine Mab's feeling 
when, auddemly fixing his eyes oh h^r, he said de- 
cisively, "That young lady is musicaly I see I " She 
was a mere blush and sense of scorching. 

"Yes," said Mirah on her behalf. "And she has 
a touch." 

" Oh please, Mirah — a scramble, not a touch," said 
Mab, in anguish, with a horrible fear of. what the 
next thing might be: this dreadfally divining ' per- 
sonage — evidently Satan in grey trousers-:— might 
order her to sit down to the piano, and her heart 
was like molten wax in the midst of her. But this 
was che^> paymeiit for her amazed joy when Eles- 
mer said benignantly,* turning to Mrs Meyrick, " Will 
.she like to aocomrpalny Miss Lapidoth and heair the 
music on Wednesday ? " 

"There could hardly be a greater pleasure for 



130 DANIEL DERONDA. 

her/' sadd Mrs Meyrick. "She will be most glad 
and grateful." 

Thereupon Klesmer bowed round to the three 
aistere more grandly than they had ever been bowed 
to b6for^. Altogether it was an 'amusing picture — 
the little room with so much of its diagonal taken 
up in Klesmer's magnificent bend to the small 
feminine figures. like images' a little less than life- 
size, the grave Holbein faces on the \y;alls, as m^any 
as were not otherwise occupied, looking hard at this 
stranger who by his face seemed a dignified con- 
temporary of their KDwn, but whose garments seebied 
a deplorable moofeery of the human fo4»m. 

Mrs Meyrick could not help gcffcg out of the f 6om 
W'ith Klesmer' and closing the idoor behind her; He 
understood her, and said with a frowning nod — 

" She will do' : if she doesn't atteinpt tod much and 
her voice holds out, she. can make an incopie. I 
know that is the great point : Deronda tbld me. You 
are taking care of her. She looks like a good girl." 

" She is an angel," said the warm-hearted woman. 

"No,'^ said Klesmer, with a playfiil nod; "she 
is a pretty Jewess : the angels mreist not get the 
credit of her. . But I' tMnk sh^ has found a ^ar- 
dian angel," he ended, bowing himself out in this 
•amiable way. 

The four young creatures had looked at each other 
mutely till the door banged and Mrs Meypiok re-en- 
tefed. Then there was an exploifeioni. Mab clapped 
her hands and danced everywhere inconveniently; 
Mrs Meyrick kissed Mirah and blessed her; Amy 
said emphatically^ "We can never get her a new 



BOOK V. ^MORDBCiJ. 131 

drees before Wednesday J" and Eate exclaimed, 
" Thank heaven my table is not knocked over ! " 

Mirah had reseated herself on the music - sjbool 
without speaking, and the tears Were rolling down 
her cheeks as she looked at hier Mends. 

"Now, now, MabI" said Mrs Meyriok; "come 
and sit down reasonably and let ue talk." 

"Yes, let us talk," said Mab, cordially, coc4ing 
back to her low seat and caoressing her knees. ^^ I 
any begiiming to feel large again. Hai^ said he 
was coming this afbemoon: I. wish he had been 
here— ^nly there Would have. been no room: for. him, 
Mirah, what are you looking sad for? " 

" I am too liappy," said Mirah. " I feel so full of 
gratitude to you all ; and he was so very kind." 

" Yes, at last," said Mab, sharply. " But he might 
have said.soinething encouraging sooner.. I thought 
him dreadfully ugly when he sat frbwning^ hnd 6txly 
said, ^Continue.' I hated him all the long way finom 
the top of his hair to the toe of his polished boot" 

"Non6en«e, Mab; he has a splendid prcjfile," said 
Kate. ' i. 

" NoiPy buitnot then. . I cannot bear people to keep 
their minds bottled up for the sake of letting them off 
with a pjop. They seam to grudge making, you happy 
unjess they can make you miserable beforehand. 
Hoiwever, I forgive him everything," said Mab, with 
a magnanimous air, " because he has invited me. I 
wander why h<e fixed on me as the . musical . oile V 
Was it because I have a bulging forehead^ ma, and 
peep from under it like a newt from under a stone ? '' 

"It was your way of listening to .the sinking, 



134 DANIEL . DEBDNBA. 

with a devout look. " What does it signify whether 
a perfect womaix is a Jewess or not ? " 

" That is yoxir kind way of piraising me ; I never 
was praised so before," said Mirah, with a smile, 
which' was rather maddening to Hans and madd him 
feel still more of a Gosmopolitan. ' \ 

"People, don't think of me as a British Christian," 
he said, his face creasing merrily. " They think of 
me as an imperfectly handsome young man and an 
unpromising painter." 

^'' But you are wandering from the dress," said 
Amy. " If that will not do, how are we to g6t an- 
other before Wednesday ? and to-morrow Sunday?" 

"Indeed this will do," said Mirah, eatreatingly, 
" It is all real, you know," here she looked at Hans 
— " ev«n if it seemed theatricaL Poor Berenice sit- 
ting on the ruins— any one might say that was the- 
atrical, but I know that is just what she would do." 

" I am a scoundrel," said Hans, overcome by this 
misplaced trust " That is my inventioaij Nobody 
knows that she did that. Shall you forgive me for 
not saying so before ? " . 

. " Oh yes," said. Mirah, after a momentary pause of 
surprisie. " You knew it was what she would be sure 
to do — a Jewess who had inot been faithful — who had 
done what she: did and was penitent. She could 
have no- joiy but to afflict herself; and where else 
would she go ? I think it is very beautiful that you 
should enter so into what a Jewess would feel.'- 

" The Jewesses of that time sat on ruins^* • said 
Hans, starting up with a sense of being checkmated. 
" That makes them convenient for pictures." 



BOOK v.— -MORDECAI. 1^5 

"Bnt the dress — the dress," said Amy; "is it 
settled?" . ' ... 

" Yes ; is it not ? " said Mirah, looking donbtfiilly 
at MiB Meyriok, who in her turn looked up at her 
goo, ttttd said, "What do you think, Hans?'' 

" Tlkdt dress will not do;" said Hans, decisively. 
"Sheis^not going tb sit on ruins. You muist jump 
ioto a cab. with her, little mother, and go to Regent 
Street. It's plenty of time to get anythitig you like 
*^a black wlk dress such as ladies wear. She must 
rxA be taken for an object of charity. She has talents 
to make people indebted to her." . • 

" I think it is what Mr Deronda wotild like-^for 
her to have a handsome dress," said Mrs Meyrick, 
deliberating. 

" Of course it is," said Hans, with some sharpness. 
" You may take my word for what a gentleman 
would feel." 

" I wish to do what Mr Deronda would like me to 
do," said Mirah, gravely, seeing that Mrs Meyrick 
looked towards her ; and Hans, turning on his heel, 
went to Kate's table and took up one of her draw- 
ings as if his interest needed a new direction. 

" Shouldn't you like to make a study of Klesmer's. 
head, Hans?" said Kate. "I suppose you have 
often seen him?" 

" Seen him ! " exclaimed Hans, immediately throw- 
ing back his head and mane, seating himself at the* 
piano and looking round him as if he were surveying" 
an amphitheatre, while he held his fingers down per- 
pendicularly towards the keys. But then in another 
instant he wheeled round on the stool, looked at 



136 DANIEL DERONDA, , 

Mirah and said, half timidly — "Peijiapa ypv don't 
like this mimicry ; you must always stop Bay non- 
sen^G wlxen you don^t like it." . . 

M^rak had been smiling at the Bwiftly-made image, 
and she smiled still, but with a, topoh of aoto^thiug 
else than amusement, as she, said -r-" Thank you. 
Bvit you have never done anjrthing I did not , like. 
I hardly think he could, belonging to you," sh$ 
added, looking at Mrs Meyrick. 

In this way Hans got food for his, i hope. How 
could the rose help, it when several bees in suc- 
cession took- its sweet odour as'^a sign of pdrsomd 
^ttachojfent? 



137 



CHAPTEE XL 



'* Within the soul a faculty abides. 
That with interpositions, which would hide 
Aji4 d$rt:en, so. can deal, that they become 
Contingencies of pomp ; and serve to exalt 
Her native brightness, as the ample moon, 
In the deep stillness of a summer even, 
Rising behind a thick and lofty grove. 
Boms, !ike an unconsuming flie of light; 
In the green trees; a|ul, kindling on; all sidee . ■ -,] 
'Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil 
Into a substatKie glorious as her own, ■ ' ' 

Yea, with her own incorporated, by power ' ; , 

Capacious and serene." 

>— WoEnewoRTH : Zteniriio^, B. IV. 



D£BOin>A came out of the narrow house at Chelsea 
in a frame of mmd that made him long for some 
good bodily lexercise . to carry off what he was him- 
self inclined to oall the fames of his temper. He 
was going towards the city, arid the sight of the 
Ch(el$ea Stairs with the waiting' boats at onqe'de' 
termined him to a\foid the irritating ihaotion of 
being driven, in a cab, by calliiig a wherry ai>d 
taking an oar. ..j ' . i 

His errand wis to go to Barn's boob-shop, where 
he had : yest.eirday arrived too* lat^ for Mordecai's 
mid-day watch, and; had been told that he invari- 
ably <^me' there again between five aaod sit. = Sbme 



138 DANIEL DERONDA. 

further acquaintance with this remarkable inmate 
of the Cohens was particularly desired by Deronda 
as a preliminary to redeeming his ring : he wished 
that their conversation should not again end speedily 
with that drop of Mordecai's interest which was like 
the lemoval of a drawbridge, and threatened to shut 
out any easy coainiunication in future. As he got 
warmed with the use of the o4r,' fixing his mind on 
the errand before him and the ends he wanted to 
achieve on Mirah's account, he experienced, as was 
wont with him, a quick change of mental light, 
shifting his point of view to that of the person 
whom he had been thinking of hitherto chiefly as 
serviceable to his. own pu^po^es, and was inclined 
to taunt himself with being not much better than 
an enlisting sergeant, who never troubles himself 
with the drama that bnngs him the needful recruits. 
" I . suppose if I got from this man the informa- 
tion I am most anxious about," thought Deronda, 
" I shohld be contented enough if he fdlt no disposi- 
tion to tell me m6re of himself, or why he seemed 
to have some expectation from me which was dis- 
apipointed. The sort of curiosity he stirs would 
die out; and yet it might be that he had neared 
and parted; as oiie can imagine two ships doing, 
each freighted with an exile who would have recog- 
nised- the other if the two could have - looked out 
face to face. Not that there is any likelihood of 
a peculiar tie between me and -this poor fellow, 
whose vtfyage, I fancy, must soon be over. But 
I wonder 'whether there is much of that momentous 
mutual missing between people who interchange 



BOOK V.-^-MGEDECAI. 139 

blank looks, or even long for one anotlidr's abeence 
in a crowded place. However, one makes one's self 
chances of missing by going on the recruiting- 
sergeant's plan." 

When the .wherry was approaching . Blaokfriars 
Bridge, where Deronda meant to lahd, it was half- 
past four,^ and the grey day was dying gloriously, 
its western clouds all broken into riariJowing purple 
strata before a wide^spreading saffron clearness, which 
in the sky had a monumental calm, but on the river, 
with its changing objects, was reflected as a luminous 
movement, the alternate flash of ripplds or currentd, 
the sudden glow of the brown siil, the. passage of 
laden barges from blackness into colour^ mfekihg an 
active response to that brooding glory. 

Feeling well heated by this time, Deronda gave 
up the oar and drew over him again his Inverness 
cape. As he lifted lip his head while &,stening the 
topmost button, his eyes caught a well-remembered 
face looking towards him over the parapet of the 
bridge — brought out by the western light into start* 
ling distinctness and brilliancy — an illuminated type 
of bodily emaciation and spiritual eagerness. It 
was the faoe of Mixrdecai, who also, in his watch 
towards the west, had caught sight of the* advance 
ing boat, • and had kept it fiist within his gaze, at 
first simply because it was advancing, then with a 
recovery of impressicMis that made him quiver as 
with a presentiment^ tall at last the neaoing figure 
lifted Up its face towards him — the face of hisi visions 
— and then immediately, with white uplifted hand, 
beckoned again and again^ ^ 



140 DANIEL DERONDA. 

For Deronda, anxious that Mordeoai should recog- 
nise and await hiin, had lost no time before signal- 
lingi, and the answer came straightway. Mordeoai 
lifted his cap and waved it — feeling in that moment 
that his inward prophecy was fulfilled. Obstacles, 
incongruities, all melted into the sense of completion 
with which his soul was flooded by this outward 
satisfaction of his longing. His exultation was not 
widely different from that of the experimenter, bend*- 
ing over the first stirrings of change that correspond 
to what in the fervour of concentrated prevision his 
thought has foreshadowed. The prefigured friend 
had come firom the golden background, alid had 
signalled to him : this actually was : the rest wan 
to be. . 

In three minutes Deronda had landed, had pkid 
his boatman, and was joining Mordeoai, whose in- 
stinct it was to stand perfectly still and wait for 
him. 

:" I was very glad to see you standing here, said 
Deronda, " for I was intending to go on to the book- 
shop and look for you again. I was there yesterday 
— perhaps they mentioned it to you ? ^' 

"Yes,", said Mordecai ; "that was the 'reason I 
came to the bridge." 

This answer, made with simple gravity, was start- 
lingly mysterious to Deronda. Were the peculiar- 
ities of this man really associated with any- sort of 
mental aliionation, according to Cohen's hint? 

" You knew nothing of my being. at Chelsea ? " he 
said, after & moment. 

"No : but I expected you to come, down the 



BOOK v.--- MOUDBOAI. 141 

river. I have been waiting for you these five years." 
Mordecai's deep-sunk eyes were fixed onithofte of th>e 
friend who ^had at last arrived with a look of affec- 
tionate dependeiioe, at once pathetic and sdemn. 
Dercmda's sensitiveness was not the less responsive 
because he oould not bat believe that this strangely- 
disclosed relation was founded on an illusion. 

" It will be a satisfaction to me if I oaai be of any 
real uso'ti you," he answered, very .earnestly. "Shall 
we. get into a cab and drive to— wherever you wish 
to go? You have probably had walking enough- 
with your short breath." 

"Let us go to the book-shop. It will soon he 
time for me to be there. But now look up the 
river," said Mordecai, turafing again towards it 
and speaking in undertone^ of what may be called 
anl excited calm — so absorbed by a sense of fulfil- 
ment that he was conscious of no barrier to a com- 
plete understandmg between him and Dej'ondai' 
" See the sky, how it is slowly fading. I have 
always loved this bridge;: I stood on it when I 
was a little boy« It is a meeting - place ior the 
spiritual messengers-. It is true— what the Mas- 
ters said — that each order of things has its angel : 
that means the fiiU message of each from what is 
afar. Here I have listened to the messaiges of 
earth and sky ; when I was stronger I used ta 
stay and' watch for the stars iii the deep heavens. 
But this time just about sunset wias always what 
I loved best. It has sunk into me and dwelt with 
me — feding, slowly fading : it was my okn decline : 
it paused — it waitied, till at last it. brought ^ me my' 



142 DANIEL DERONDA. 

new life —my new self — who will live when this 
breath i* all breathed out." 

DerOnda did not speak, He felt liimself etrangelj 
wrought upon. The first-prompted suspicion that 
Mordeoai might be Uable to hallucinations of 
thought — might have become a moiwmaniac on 
some subject which had given too severe a strain 
to bis diseased lorganism — gave way to a miore sub- 
missive expectanay. His nature was too large, too 
ready to conceive regions beyond his own expe- 
rience, to rest atr once in the easy explanation, 
" madness," whenever a consciousness showed some 
fulness and conviction where his own was blank. It 
accorded with his habitual disposition that he should 
meet, rather than resist any claim on him in the 
Aape of' another's need ; and this . claim brought 
with it a ftensid of solemnity which seemed a radia- 
tion from Mordeoai^. as utterly nullifying his outward 
poverty and lifting him into authority as if he had 
been that preternatural guide seen in the universal 
legend, who suddenly drops his mean disguise and 
stands a manifest Power. That impression was the 
more sanctioned by a sort of resolved quietude 
which the persuasion of falfilment had produced 
in Mordecai's manner. After they -had stood a 
moment, in silence he said, " Let us go now ; " and 
when they were walking he added, "We will get 
down at Ithe ehd of the street and walk to 'th6< shop. 
You can look at the books, and Mr Bam will be 
going away directly and leave us alone." 

It. seemed that this enthusiast was just as cau- 
tious, just as much alive to judgments in other 



BOOK V. — MbRI>ECAI. l^S 

miaids as if he had been that Antipole of all enthti- 
siafim called "a man 'of the woi»ldi" 

While they w^re rattling along iti the cab, Mirah 
was still p!pesent with Deronda in the midst' df this 
strange experience, but he foresaw that the 'course 
of conversation would be determined by MotidecAi, 
not by himself : he was no longer cohfiderit' what 
questions he should be abli^^'to iask; arid With a 
reaction cm -his own -mood,' he iiiwardly ssbid, "I 
suppose I am m a State of complete superstition, 
just as if I were awaiting the destiny th^t could 
interpret the oradie. But some strong' relation 
there must • be between ' me *nd this matt, since 
he feels it strongly. ' "Great heaven I ^hat ^ rela- 
tion has proved itself mote potent iii the world 
than faith even when mistaken ---than expiecMioii 
even when perpetually disappointed? Is my 'side 
of the relation to be disappointing 6r fiiilfilliiag ? 
— well, if it is ever possrtble fo'r me' to ''fulfil, I 
will not disappoint*" ' '; 

In ten minutes the two men, with as ^intensis' 'a 
consciousness afif if they had been two uhdeclared 
loVers, felt themselves alonfe ha the small gas -lit 
book-shop and turned face to* faee, eiach baring hii 
head from an instinctive feeling that they wished 
to see each other fully. . Mordecsd came forwatd to 
lean his back against the little counter, while ' De- 
ronda Stood against the opposite Wall hardly more 
than four feet off. I wish I could perpetuate those 
two faces, as Titian's "Tribute Moiiey" has per- 
petuated two types presenting another sort Of con- 
trast. Imagine — we all of uti can -^ the pathetic 



144 DANIEL DERONDA. 

^taiflip of consui^pliion :with its brilliaiicjy of gHaaice 
to which the sl^arply-defined ; struoturd of: features 
remindii^g one of a forsaken temple, giilve abeiady 
£j, far-off look as of one getting unwillingly out of 
reach,; and imagine it on a Jewish face natuxally 
accentuarfced for the expression of an eager mind- — 
the face of a man little above thirty, but with that 
age upon it yijhich belongs to time lengthened by 
suffering, liie h,Bir apd., beard still blJeiak throwing 
ou,t. the. yellow pallor of the skin, ;the difficult 
breathing giving more decided marking to the 
mol^ilo nostril, the wasted yellow hatids conapio- 
upus on t^ie folded arms : then give to the yeauii- 
ing consumptive glance something of the slowly 
jdying ^i^ther's. look when her one .loved sonivisit* 
Jxer,, bedside, and tlx^ . filtering powder of gladness 
leaps put as -she ^^ys, ^*My boy I" — 'for the sense 
of spiritual perpetuation, in another resembles that 
piatemal, ,^;ransfereiice of self. 

Seeing such a portrait you would see Mordecai. 
And opposite ip him ^as a face npt^nore: distinctively 
priental Jihan piany a typB seei^ ataong what we call 
tJieLatii? races : rich in youthful health, and .with a 
foiffcible masculine gTa,yity in its r^pO^^, that gave 
tl^e value of judgment to the j?^verence with Which 
hp met the. gaze jpf this mysterioud son of poverty 
who claimed him. as a long-e:?:pfeoted fridnd. The 
jppre exquisite quality of Derqnda's . nature — that 
kee;ily perceptive sympathetic emotiyeaess which 
i^n along witi^ his speculative tendency — ;waei never 
Vfxpve thorpughly tested. He felt nothing that pould 
be caJled b^U©f vx the. validity of Mordecai*fi inipres- 



BOOK T.-^MORDBOAI. 145 

sions concerning him or in the ptobabiiity of ahy 
greatly effective issue : what he felt was a ppofonnd 
sensibility to a crj" from the depths of another soul ; 
apd accompanying that, the summons to be 'decep- 
tive instead of superciliously prejidging. Recep- 
tiveness is a rare and masiAve powier, like fortitude ;' 
and "this state of mind ndw gave Derotida's faeJe 
its utmost expression of calm benignant force-^— an 
expression which nourished Mordecai's confidence 
and made an open way bcifore him. He beg^ua to 
speak. 

"You cannot know what has guided me to yOii 
and brought us together at this moment. Ybu are 
wondering." 

^*I am not impatient,*' said Derdnda. **I am ready 
to listen to whatever you may wish- to disclose.'* 

" You see some of the reasons why I needed you," 
said Mordecai, speaking quietly, as if he wished to 
reserve his strength. "You see that I am dying. 
You see that I am as one shut up behind bars by 
the wayside^ who if he spoke to any would be met 
only by headnshaking and pity. The day is closing 
— ^the light is fading — soon we should hot- hive beien 
able to discerni each oilier. But you have come in 
time." 

" I rejoice that I am come in time," Saiil Deronda, 
feelingly. He would not say, " I hope you are riot 
mistaken in me," — ^the very word "mistakien," he 
thought, would be a cruelty at thelt moment. 

" But the hidden reasons why I need jcfa began 
afar off," said Mordecai ; "began in my early years 
when I was studying in another land. Then ideas,* 



149 DANIEL DER0NDA.. 

b^lpved i(J©a8,. Oftme to me, be^catise I wa» a Jeih 
They; w^t& a t^st to fi^fil, because It was a Jew. 
T\iey weife an. mspi,ration, b^oavifle I was a Jew, and 
felt the heart qf, Tt\y race beating within me. They 
were piy, life; I, was not ;ftilly born till then. I 
counted Jhis heart, andthi^s, breath, and this right 
h,s^nd "^Mordcjcai had patheftically preased hie, hand 
gainst .bis, breast, an.d th^n stretched its wasted 
fingerf out before him— "I qpunted Jiay sleep and 
wy waking, and the work I fed my body with, and 
the sights that fed my eyes — »I counted them but as 
finel to thi^ divij[p,e flaulie; But I had done as: one 
who,. winders and epgrayes his thought in rfooky- 
solitudes, and before I could change my course 
G^ifme . oao^e ; and la,bour and, disease, and btooked the 
way before me,,atid bQjaAd;me with the iron that 
eajt;s itself Jntc? the &Q;uL Then I said, * How shall 
I.sfve the life w,ithin; ma from being stifled with 
this stifled l^reath?'" 

Mprdeoai pai^sed to rest that .poor breath which 
had been taxed , by the rising excitement of his 
apeeofi. . And also he wished to check that excite- 
ment. Derppda dgjred apt speak.; tjie very silence 
in the narro)^. space seemed alive -v^th mingled awe 
and compassion before this struggling fervour. And 
presp;:^tly MjOJcdecai went on — . 

"But you may misunderstand me. I speak. inot 
as an ignorant dreanaer — as one bred up in the in- 
land valleys,' thinking ancient thoughts anew, and 
not faioiwing them aiirient, neveir having stood by 
the great waters where the world's knowledge passeis 
' and fro. English is my mother-tongue, England 



BOOK V. MORDBCAI. 147 

is the native land of this body, which is but as a 
breaking pot of earth around the fruitHbeaiTMig treej 
whose seed might make the desert rerjoice; ; But my 
tr«e life was •nourished in HoUandi, at the feet of my 
mother's brother, a^Balibi^ skilled in speoiai learning; 
and when be diisd I went to* Hamburg to study, and 
afterwards to Gottingen, that I might taike a' largec 
outlook on my p^opl^e, and ori the Gbeaitlle world) and 
drink knowledge at all sodrces. I. was a .youtda'- I 
felt free ; Psaw our chief sea^is in Germany; I was 
not then in utter poverty. Aaid) I ^had possessed 
myself of a handicraft ■ For I said,/ 1 care not if my 
lot be as that of Joshua. ben Chginanja rafter the 
last destrtiction he ©arriedibis bread by making 
needles, but in his yoiith'he' had been a singer on 
the steps of the Temple, and had a memory of what 
was, before the glory departed* I said, let my bodjf^ 
dwell in poverty, and- my hahdsj be as the hstnds of 
the toiler ; but let my soul be as a teinple lof remem- 
bi^nce wheire the treasures of knowledge ■ etater and 
the inner sanctuary is hope. I knew what I ohosei 
They said, *He feeds himself fan visions,' aiid I 
denied liot ; for visions are the creatowr kid feeder^ 
of the world. I see, I' mieasure tbe world a;s it is, 
which the vision will create anew. You are not 
listening to one who raves aloof from l^e lines' of 
his fellows." • ^ i: 

Mordecai paused, and Deronda, feeling that the 
pause was expectant, said, "Do me the justice! to 
believe thaft 'I Was not ineliifed to call youar words 
raving. I listen that T may know, without prejndg-^ 
ment. I have had experience which gives ms a 



•- .i; 



148 DAMEL DERONDA. 

keen interest in the story of a spiritual destiny em- 
braced willingly, and embraced) ^in yontb." 

<^A spiritual destiny embraced- willingly — in 
youth ?" Mordecai repeated in a corrective* toi»e.' 
" It was the soul fully bom within me, and it 
came in my boyhood. It brought its own- world-r- 
a mediaeval world, where there were men n^ho made 
the ahoient language live again in .new psalms of 
6xil6.. They had absorbed the' philosophy of th^ 
Gentile into thfe faith of the Jew, and they still 
j^eamed toward a centre for our race. One of their 
souls was bom -again within me, and aWaked amid 
the memories of their world. ' It travdled into 
Spaiin and Provence ; it debated with Aben-^Ezra ; 
it took ship with Jehuda ha-Levi ; it heard the 
roar of the Crusaders and the shriekis of tortured 
Israel. And when its dumb torigue was loosed, 
it st)oke the speech they had made alive with*. the 
new blood 6f their ardour, their soirow, and. their 
martyred trust ; it sang with the o^eno^ of their 
strain." 

* Mordecai paused again,! and then said in a loud, 
hoarse: whisper — 

• ** While it is imprisoned, in 'me, it will never Ifearn 
another." 

" Have you written entirely in Hebrew, th^n ? " 
said Deronda, remembering with some aa:iziet)r the 
former, question as to his own knowledge of that 
tongue* . , 

** Yes-— yes," said Mordecai, in a stone of deep 

sadniBSfi ; "in; my youth I wandered toward that 

ie, not feeling that it was a solitude. I had 



BOOK V. MORDECAI. 149 

the ranks of the great dead around me ; the martyrs 
gathered and listened. But soon I found that the 
living were deaf to me. At first I saw my life 
spread as a long fature : I said, part of my Jewish 
heritage is an unbreaking patience 5 part is skill to 
seek divers methods and find a i-ooting-place wher^ 
the planters despair. But there came new mes- 
sengers from the EteniaL I had to bow under the 
yoke that presses on the great multitude bom- fX 
woman : femily troubles called me-— I had to work, 
to care, not for myself alone. I was left solitary 
again ; but already the angel of death had turned 
to me and beckoned, and I felt his skirts Continually 
on my path. I loosed not my effort. I besought 
hearing and help. I spoke ; I went to men of oar 
people— to the rich in influence or knowledge, to 
the rich in other wealth. But I found none to listen 
with understanding. I was rebuked for error;- I 
was offered a small sum in charity. No.wi>nder. 
I looked poor ; I carried a bundle of Hebrew manu- 
script with me ; I said, our chief teachers are mis- 
leading the hope of our race^ Schdlfir and merchant 
were both too busy to listen. Scorn stood as in- 
terpreter between me and Ihem. One said, * The 
Book of Mormon would never have answered in 
Hebrew; and if you mean to address our learned 
men, it is riot likely you can teach thetn anything.' 
He touched a truth there." 

The last words had a perceptible irony in their 
hoarsened tone. 

" But though you had accustomed yourself to 
write in Hebrew, few, surely, can use English 



150 DANIEL DERONDA. 

better," salid Deronda, wanting to hint consolatiaQ 
in anewieffort for which he could smooth the way. 

Mordeoai shook his head slowly, and answered— 

" Too'latef — too late. I can write no more*. My 
writiiig would he- like this gasping breath. But the 
breath may wake the fount'of pity— the writing not. 
If I conld write now and nised English, I should be 
as one who beats: a boatd t6 summon those who have 
been used to no signal but a bell. My soul has an 
ear to hear: the faults of 4td own speech; . New 
writing of mine would be, likfei this body"-r-Mordeoai 
spread bis' arms — ^" within it there mi^ht be the 
Euach-ha-kodesht— the breath of divine thdught — but 
rden would smile at it and say, ^ A poor Jew ! Wand 
the chief smiters would be of my owtq people." 

IVIotde'cai Idt his hands fall, and his' head sink in 
j»elanoholyi for the niDiilent he had lost hold of hfa 
hope. DesJ)ondenoyy conj»red up by his own words, 
had floated in and hoverisd above him with eclipsing 
wings. He had 6unk into momentary darkness. 

" I feel with you — I feel strongly with you," said 
Deronda, in a clear deep voice which was itself a 
cordial, apart froM the weirds of sympathy * < '* But 
— forgive me if I speak hastily — fbr what you have 
actually written there need be no utter burial. The 
tneans of publication are within reach. If you will 
rely on mey I can assure you of all that is necessaiv 
to that end." 

/* That is hot enough," isaid Mordeoai, quickly, 
looking up again with the flash of recovered 
memory and confidence. " That is not all my 
trust in you* You . must be not only a 'hand to me, 



BOOK V. ^MOBKECAI. 151 

but a soul — ^believing xny belief — being mov«d by 
0^' reasons — hoping my hope**— seeing the visiimi:! 
poimt to — beholding a glory wliere jI behold it I "-^ 
Mordecai had taken a step nearei*>as he spoke, and^ 
now kiid his hand on. Deronda's arm with a 'tig^t 
grasp ; his faoe little more than- a foot off had sbme^ 
thing like a pal e^ flame in it — ad intensity of reliknce 
that. acted. aei a peremptory claim, while be went ob 
— " You w^ill be my life : it will be planted a&esh v 
it Fill grow. You; shall take the inheritance ; it 
hds been gathering jR>r ages. The generations are 
crowding on my nctrrbw life aii a bridge : What b^as' 
been findwh^^t is to be- are meeting there.; and the 
bridge is breaking. But! I have fimnd youi Ybu 
have coiQ^ in time. You will take the. 'inheritance 
which the base son refuses because of ^he tombs 
whjich the plough and harrow may not> pass 4J«ner or 
the gold' seeker, disturb: you will taket the^aacred- 
inheritancie of the Jew." ' 

Deronda had become as pallid as Mordeeai 
Quick as an alarm of flood or firie, there spread 
within him not only a compassionate dread of dis- 
couraging this fellow-rman who ui^ed a prayer as of 
one in the . last agony, but also the opposing dread 
of. fatally feeding an illusion^ and being hurried on 
to a self-ooDdmittal which, might turn into a falsity. 
The peculiar appeal to his tenderness overcame the 
repulsion .that most of' us experience under a grasp 
and speech which assume to dominate. The diffi^ 
culty to him was to inflict the acc^ts of hesitation 
and doubt oju this ardent suffering creature, who 
was crowding too much of his brief being into a 



15-2. DAJJIIEL DERONDA. 

momSent. of perhaps extravagf^it trust. With ^x* 
quisite instinct, Deronda, before he opened his lips^ 
placed his palm gently on Mordecai's straining 
hand— ifcn act just then equal to ^mbAj 'speeches. 
And after that he said, without haste, as if conscious 
that he might be wrong — 

" Do you forget what I told you when we firbi 
saw each <rther? Do you remember" that I said I' 
was not of your race?" 

".It. can't be true," Mordecai whispered imme^ 
diately, with no sign of shock. The>Bympathetio' 
haad still upon Him had fortified the feeling which 
was stronger than those words of denial. There' 
was/ a perceptible pause,' Deronda feeling it- impos- 
sible to answer, conscious indeed that the assi&rtion, ' 
*flt oan-tibe tnie^' — had the pressure of argument 
for him^ Mordecai, too entirely pttssesaed by the 
sSipreme impdrtaiice of the relation between him- 
self and Deronda to have any other care iii his 
speech, followed up that assertion by a second, 
which came to his lips as a mere sequence of his 
long -cherished conviction—^ 
:" You are not sure of your own origin." 
.f* How; do you know that?'' said Daniel, with 
an habitual shrinking which made him remove his 
hand from Mordecai's, who also relaxed his hold; 
anfl fell back into his former leaning • position^ 

(."I know it-^I Imow it ; what is my life else?" 
s$jid Mordecai, with a low cry of impatience. "Tell 
me everything : tell me why you dfeny." ' . 

. He .could have no Conception what that demand 
was to the hearer- — how probingly it touched the 



BOOK V. MORDBCAI. 153 

hidden sensibility, the vividly conscious reticence of 
years ; how the . uncertainty he . was . insisting on 
as pf^rt of his own hopid had . always for. Daniel 
been a threatening possibility of painful revelation 
about his mother. But the moment had influences 
which were not only new but solemn to Seronda: 
any evasion here might turn out to be a hatefliil 
refusal of some itask that belonged to him, some 
act of due fellowship ; in any case it would be la 
cruel rebuff to a being who was appealing to him 
as a forlorn hope > under the shadow of a coming 
doom. After a few moinents, he said, with a great 
edSbrt over himself — determined to tell all the truth 
briefly — 

" I have never known my mother. I have no 
knowledge about her. I have never called any 
man father. But I am convinced that my father 
is an Englishman." 

Deronda's deep tones had a tremor, in them as 
he uttered this confession ; and. all the while there 
was. an under-current of amazement in him 'at the 
strange circumstanbes under which he uttered it. 
It seeiiied as if Mordecai were hardly overrating 
his own power to determine the action of the friend 
whom he had mysteridusly chosen. , 

" It will be seen — it will be declared/' said Mor- 
decai, triumphantly.. " The world grows, and its 
frame is knit together by the growing soul 5 dim, 
dim at first, then clearer and more clear, the con- 
scion sness discenXs remo(te stirrings. As thoughts 
move within us darkly, and shake us before they 
are ftdly discerned — so events ^ — so beings;, they 
VOL. II. F 



154 DANIEL DERON0A. 

are knit with us in the growth of the world. Yon 
have risen within me like a thonght not fully 
spelled : my soul is shaken before the wor(te are 
all there. The rest will come— it will come." 

"We must not lose sight of the feet that the 
outward event has not always been a fulfilment 
of the firmest faith," said Deronda, in a tone that 
was made hesitating by the painfu-lly conflicting 
desires, not to give any severe blow to Mordecai, 
and not to give his confidence a sanction which 
might have the severest of blows in reserve. 

Mordecai's face, which had been illuminated to 
the utmost in that last declaration of his confid- 
ence, changed under Deronda's' words, but not into 
any show of collapsed trust: the force did not dis- 
appear from the expression, but passed from the 
triumphant into the firmly resistant 

" You would remind me that I may be under aai 
illusion— that the history of our people*s trust has 
bee^ full of illusion. I face it all.'' Here Mordecai 
patised a moment. Then bending his head a little 
forward, he said, in his hoarse whisper, " So U might 
be with my trust, if you would make it an illusion. 
But you will noty 

The very sharpness with' which these words pene^ 
trated Deronda, made him feel the more that here 
was a crisis in which he must be firm. 
. "What my birth was does hot lie" in my will," 
he answered. " My sense of claims on me cannot 
be independent of my knowledge there. And I 
cannot promise you that I will try to hasten a dis- 
closure. Feelings which have struck root through 



bOOK v.— MORbteCAl. 155 

half my iiife may still hinder me from doing what 
I have never yet been able to do. Everythihg 
must be waited for. I must know more of the 
truth about my own life, and I must know more 
of what it would become if it were made a plart of 
yours." 

Mordeoai had folded his arms again while Der- 
onda was speaking, and now answered with equal 
firmness, though with dififioult breathing — 

" You shall know. What are we met for, but 
that you should know? Your doubts lie as light 
as dust on my belief. I know the philosophies of 
this time and of other times : if I chose I could 
answer a summaons before their tribunals. I could 
silence the beliefs which are the mother-tongue of 
my soul and speak with the rote-learned language 
of a isystem, that gives you the spelling of all 
things, sure of its alphabet covering them all. ' I 
could silence them : may not a man silence his 
awe or his love and take to finding reasons, which 
others demand? But if his love lies deeper than 
any reasons to be found ? Man finds his plathways : 
at first they were foot -tracks, as those of the beast 
in the wilderness ; now they are swift and invisible : 
his thought dives through the ocean', and his wishes 
thread the air : has he found all the pathways yet ? 
What reaches him, stays tvith him, rules him : he 
must accept it, not knowing its pathway. Sfty, my 
expectation of you has grown but as false hoped 
grow- That doubt is in your mind? Well, my 
expectation was there, and you are come. Men 
have died of thirst. But I was thirsty, and the 



156 DANIEL DERONDA. 

water is on mj lips. What are doubts bo me? In 
the hour when you come to me and say, *I reject 
your soul : I know that. I am not a Jew : we hare 
no lot in common ' — I shall not doubt. . I shall be 
certain — certain that I have been deluded. That 
hour will never come ! " 

Deronda f«^lt a new chord sounding in this speech: 
it was rather imperious than appealing^ — had more 
of conscious ;power than of the yearning need which 
had acted as a beseeching grasp on him before. And 
usually, though he was the reverse of pugnacious, 
euch a change of attitude towards; him would have 
weakened his inclination to iadmit a claim. But 
here there was something that balanced his resist- 
ance and kept it aloo£ This strong man whose 
gaze wai^ sustainedly calm and his finger-nails pink 
with health, who was exercised in all questioning, 
and accused of excessive mental independence, still 
felt a subduing influence over him in the tenacious 
certitude of the fragile creature before huja, whose 
pallid yeUow nostril was tense with eShtt as bis 
breath laboured under the burthen of eager speech. 
The influence seemed to strengthen the bond of 
sympathetic obligation* In Deronda at this moment 
the desire to escape what might turn into a trying 
embarrassment was no more likely to determine 
action than the solicitations of indolence are likely 
to determine it in one with whom induatjy is a daily 
law. He answered simply — 

" It is my wish to meet and aatisfy your wishes 
wherever that is possible to me. It is certain to me 
at le^t, that I desire not to undervalue your toil and 



BOOK V. MORDEOAI. 157 

your suffering. Let me know your thoughts. But 
where can we meet ? " ' 

" I have thought of that," said Mordecai; " It is 
not hard for you to come into this neighbourhood 
later in the evening? You did so once." 

"I can manage it very well occasionally," said 
Deronda. " You live und-er the same roof with the 
Cohens, I think ?V 

Before Mordeoai could answer, Mr Kam re-entered 
to take his place beliind the counter. He was an 
elderly son of Abraham, whose childhood had fallen 
on the evil times at the beginning of this century, 
and who remained amid this smart and instructed 
generation as a preserved specimen, soaked through^ 
and through with the effect of the poverty and con- 
tempt which were the common heritage of most Eng-- 
lish Jews seventy years ago. He had none of the 
oily cheerfuhiess observable in Mr Cohen's aspect :. 
his very features — broad and chubby — ^showed that 
tendency to look mongrel without due cause which, in 
a miscellaneous London neighbourhood, may perhaps 
be compared with the marvels of imitation in insects,: 
and may have been nature's imperfect effort on be- 
half of the purer Caucasian to shield him from the. 
shame and spitting to which pumr features would' 
have been exposed in the tiiaes of zeal. Mr Eam 
dealt ably in books in €he same way that he would 
have dealt in tins of meat and other oommodities***- 
without knowledge or responsibility as to the pro- 
portion of rottenness or nourishment they might 
contain. But he believed in Mordecai'e learning 
as something marvellous, and was not sorry that 



158 DANIEL DERONDA, 

his. GonvQrsatiou should be sought by a bookish 
gentleman, whose visits had twice ended in a pur- 
chase. He greeted Deronda with a crabbed good- 
will, and, putting on large silver spectacles, appeared 
at once to abstract hiiDaself in the daily accounts. 

But Deronda and Mordecai were sooii in the 
street together, and, without 'any explicit agreement 
as to their direction, were walking towards Ezra 
Coheu^s. 

"We can't meet there: my room is too narrow," 
said Moidecai, taking up the thread of talk where 
they had dropped it. " But there is a tavern not 
far from here where I sometimes go to a club. It 
is the Hand and Banner, in the street at the next 
turning, five doors down. We can have the parlour 
there any evening.'' 

"We can try that for once," said Deronda* "But 
you will perhaps let me provide you with some 
lodging, which would give you more freedom and 
comfort than where you are." 

" No ; I need nothing. ' My outer life is as nought. 
I will take nothing less precious from you than your 
soul's brotherhood. I will think of nothing else 
yet. But I am glad you are rich. You did not 
need money on that diamond ring. You had some 
other motive for bringing it," 

Deronda was a little startled by this clear-sighted- 
ness ; but before he could reply, Mordecai added — 
"It is all one. Had you been in need of the money, 
the great end would have been that we should meet 
again. But yow are rich?" he ended, in a tone of 
intenogation* 



BOOK V. MORBECAI. 159 

" Not rich, except in ihe sense that every one is 
rich who has more than he needs for himself." 

"I desired that your life should be. free/' said 
Mordeoai, dreamilyr- " mine has been a bondage.*' 

It waa clear that he hnd no interest in the fact 
of Deronda's appearance at the Cbhene' beyond ita 
relation to his own ideal purpose. Despairing of 
leading easily up to the question he wished to ask, 
Deronda determined to put it abruptly, and o&iA — 

" Can you tell me why Mrs Cohen, the mother, 
must not be spoken to about' her daughter?'' 

There was no immediate answer, and he thought 
HiAt he ahonld have to repeat the question. The 
feet was that Mordecai had heard the words, but had 
to drag his mind to a new subject away from his 
passionate preoccupation. After a few moments, he 
replied with a careful effort such as he would have 
used if he had been ^sked the road to Holbom— 

'*I know the reason. But I Vili not speak even 
of trivial family affairs which I have heard in the 
privacy of the family. I dwell in their tent as in 
a sanctuary. Their history, 'so. far -< as they ihjure 
n<me other, is their own possessioii."^ 

Deronda felt the blood mounting to his cheeks as 
a sort of rebuke he was little used to, and he feiiso 
found himself painfully baffled where he had reck- 
oned with some confidence on getting decisive know- 
ledge. He became the more conscious of emotional 
strain from the excitements of the day ; and although 
he had the money in his pocket to redeem his ring, 
he recoiled from the further task of a visit to the 
Cohens', which must be made not only under the 



160 DANIEL DERONDA, 

fonner unoprtainty, but under a new disappointment 
as to the possibility of its removal. 

" I will part from you now," he said, just before 
they could reach Cohen's door ; and Mordecai paused, 
looking up at him with an anrious fatigued face 
under the gaslight. 

"When will you come back?" he said, with slow 
emphasis. 

" May I leave that unfixed ? May I ask for you 
at the Cohens' any evening after your hour at the 
book-shop?. There is no objection, 1 suppose, to 
their knowing that you and I meet in private?" 

"None," said Mordecai **But the days I wait 
now are longer than the years of my strength. Life 
shrinks : what was but a tithe is now the halfl My 
hope abides in you." 

"I will be feiithful," said Deronda — he could not 
have left those words unuttered. " I will come the 
first evening I can after seven : on Saturday or Mon- 
day, if possible. Trust me." 

He put out his ungloved hand. Mordecai, clasp- 
ing it eagerly, seemed to feel a new instreaming of 
confidence, and he said with some recovered energy 
— " This is come to pass, and the rest will come." 

That was their good-bye. 



BOOK VI. 



REVELATIONS 



CHAPTEK XLI. 



'*This, too, is probable, accoiding to that saying of Agathon : ' It is a 
part of probability that mauy improbable things will happen.' " — Aris- 
totle: Poetics. 



Imagine the conflict in a mind like Deronda's, given 
not only to feel strongly bat to question actively, 
on the evening after that interview with Mordecai. 
To a young man of much duDer susceptibilities the 
adventure might have seemed enough out of the 
common way to divide his thoughts ; but it had 
stirred Deronda so deeply, that with the usual re- 
action of his intellect he began to examine the 
grounds of his emotion, and consider how far he 
must resist its guidance. The consciousness that 
he was half dommated by Mordecai's energetic cer- 
titude, and still more by his fervent trust, roused 
his alarm. It was his characteristic bias to shrink 
from the moral stupidity of valuing lightly what had 
come close to him; and of missing blindly in his 
own life of to-day the crises which he recognised 
as momentous and sacred 'in the historic life of men. 
If he had read of this incident as having happened 
centuries ago in Rome, Greece, Asia Minor, Pales- 
tine, Cairo, to some man young as himself, dis- 



164 DANIEL DERONDA. 

satisfied with his neutral life, and wanting some 
closer ' fellowship, some more special duty to give 
him ardour for the possible consequences of his 
work, it would have appeared to him quite natural 
that the incident should have created a deep im- 
pression on that far-off man, whose clothing and 
action would have been seen in his imagination as 
part of an age chiefly known to us through its more 
serious effects. Why should he be ashamed of his 
own agitated feeling merely because he dressed for 
dinner, wore a white tie, and lived among people 
who might laugh at his owning any conscience in 
the matter as the solemn folly of taking himself too 
seriously? — that bugbear of circles in which the 
lack of grave emotion passes for wit. From such 
cowardice before modish ignorance and obtugeness, 
Deronda shrank. But he also shrank from having 
his course det-ermined by mere contagion, without 
consent of reason 5 or from allowing a reverential 
pity for spiritual struggle to hurry him along a 
dimly-seen path. 

What, after aU, had really happened ? He knew 
quite accurately the answer Sir Hugo would have 
given : " A consumptive Jew, posBessed by a fanati- 
cism which obstacles and hastening death intensi- 
fied, had fixed on Deronda as the antitype of soine 
visionary image, the offspring of wedded hope and 
despair: despair of his own life, irrepressible hope 
in the propagation of his fanatical beliefs. The 
instance was perhaps odd, exceptional- in its form, 
but substantially it was not rare. Fanaticism was 
not so common as bankruptcy, but taken in all its 



BOOK VI. — BEVELATIQNS. 165 

aspects it was abmnda^t eiicmgh* While Mordecai 
was waiting on the bridge for the. falfihnent of hi& 
visionSy another man was convinced that he bad 
the mathematical key of the universe which would 
supersede Newton,, and regarded all known physi- 
cists as conspiring to stifle his discovery and keep 
the universe locked j another, that he had the meta- 
physical key, with just that hair's -breadth of differ- 
ence from the old wards which would make it fit 
exactly. Scattered here and there in every direc- 
tion you might (find a terrible person, 'with m,ore or 
less power of speech, at^d with an eye either gUtterr 
ing or pretematurally dull, on the look-out for the 
man who must hear him ; $nd in most cases he had 
volumes which it was difficult to get printed, or if 
printed to get read. This Mordecai happened to 
hai^e a more pathetic aspect, a more passionate,: 
penetrative speech than was usual with sUich mono- 
maniacs he was more poetical than, a social re^ 
former with coloured views of the new moral world 
in parallelograms, or tha,n an enthtisiast in sewage ; 
still he came under the same class. It wqiiild be 
only right and kind to Indulge him a little, to com-, 
fort him with such help as was practicable; but 
what likelihpod waa there that his notions had the 
sort of value he ascribed to them? In such cases- 
a man of th^ world knows what to think beforehatwi 
And as to Mordecai's cqnviction that hfe had found 
a new executive self, it might be preparing: for him 
the worst of disappointments— rthat which presents 
itself as final." 

Peronda!s ear caught all these negative whisper- 



166 0ANIEL DERONDA. 

ings; nay, he repeated them di&tihctly to himselfi 
It was not the first but it was the most pretfsijag 
oooasion on which he had had to face this question 
of the family likeness among the heirs of enthu- 
siasm, whether prophets or dreamers of dreams, 
whether the 

** Great benefactore of mankind, deliverers," 

or the devotees of phantasmal discovery — from the 
first believer iti his own untnanifested inspifaticn, 
down to the last inventor of an ideal machine that 
will achieve perpetual motion. The kinship of 
hutiian passion, the sameness of mortal scenery, 
inevitably fill fact witJi burlesque and • parody. 
Error and folly have had their hecatombs of mar- 
tyrs. • Beduce the grandest type of man hitherto 
known to an abstract statement of his qualities and 
efforts, and he appears in dangerous company: say 
that, like Copernicus and Galileo, he was immovably 
convinced in the face of hissing incredulity; but so 
is the contriver of perpetual motion. We cannot 
fairly try the spirits by this sort of test. If we 
want to avtdid giving the dose of hemlock or the 
sentence of banishment in tiie wrong case, nothing 
will do but a capacity to understand the subject- 
matter on which the immovable man is convinced, 
and fellowship with human travail, both near and 
afar, to hinder us from scanning any deep experi- 
ence lightly. Shall we say, " Let the ages try the 
spirits, and see what they are worth"? Why, we 
are the beginning of the ages, which can only be 
just by virtue of just judgments in separate human 



BOOK VL ^REVELATIONS. 167 

breasta — separate yet combined Even steam-en- 
gines could not have got made without that condi- 
tion, but must have stayed in the mind of James 
Watt. 

This track of thinking was familiar enough to 
Deronda to have saved him from any contemptuous 
prejudgment of Mordecai, even if their communica* 
tion had been &ee from that peculiar claim on him- 
self strangely ushered in by some long -growing 
preparation in the Jew's agitated mind This claim, 
indeed, considered in what is called a rational way, 
might seem justifiably dismissed as iUusory and 
even preposterous ; but it was precisely what turned 
Mordecai's hold on him from an appeal to his ready 
sympathy into a clutch on his struggliilig conscience. 
Our consciences are not all of the same pattern, an 
inner deliverance of fixed laws : they are the voice 
of sensibilities as various as our memories (which 
also have their kinship and likeness). And De- 
ronda's conscience included sensibilities beyond the 
common, enlarged by his early habit of thinking 
himself imaginatively into the experience of others. 

What was the claim this eager soul made upon 
him? — "You must believe my beliefs — be moved 
by my reasons — hope my hopes — see the vision 
I point to — behold a glory where I behold it ! " To 
take such a demand in the light of an obligation in 
any direct sense would have been preposterous — to 
have seemed to admit it would have been dis- 
honesty; and Derbnda, looking on the agitation 
of those moments, felt thankful that in the midst 
of his compassion he had preserved himself fro?^ 



168 DilNIEL DERONDA. 

the bondage of false concessions. The claim hung, 
too, on at siipposition which might be -^ nay, prob- 
ably was-f-rin discordance with the faU fact: the 
supposition that he, Deronda, was of Jewish blood. 
Was there ever a more hypothetic appeal? 

But since the age of thirteen Deronda had as- 
sociated the deepest experience of his affections 
with what was a pure supposition, namely, that 
Sir Hugo was his father : that was a hypothesis 
which had been the source of passionate strug^e 
within him ; by its light he had been accustomed 
to subdue . feelings and to cherish them. He had 
been well used to find a motive in a conception 
which might be disproved ; and he had been also 
used to think of some revelation that, might in» 
fluence his view of the particular duties belonging 
to. him. To. be in a state of' suspense which was 
dilso one of emotive activity and scruple, was a 
faitiiliar attitude of his conscience. 

And now, suppose that wish -begotten belief in 
his Jewish^ birth, and that extravagant demand of 
dis/cipleship, to be the foreshadowing of an actual 
discovery and a genuine spiritual result : suppose 
that Mordecai's ideas made a real conquest over 
D^ronda's conviction? Nay, it was conceivable 
that as Mordecai needed and believed that he had 
found an active replenishment of himself, so Deronda 
might receiviB from Mordecafs mind the complete 
ideal shape of: that, personal duty and citizenship 
which lay in' his own thought like sculptured frag*- 
mente certifying some beauty yearned after but not 
traceacble by divination. 



BOOK VL KEVELATIONS. 169 

As that possibility presented itself in his medita- 
tions, he was aware that it would be called dreamy, 
and began to defend it. If the influence he imagined 
himself submitting to had been that of some honoured 
professor, some authority in a seat of leasning, some 
philosopher who had been accepted as a voice of the 
age, would a thorough receptiveness towards direc- 
tion have been ridiculed? Only by those who hold 
it a sign of weakness to be obliged for an idea, and 
prefer to hint that they have implicitly held in a 
more correct form whatever others have stated with 
a sadly short -coming explieitness. After all, what 
was there but vulgarity in taking the fact that Mor^ 
decai was a poor Jewish workman, and that he was 
to be met perhaps on a sanded floor in the parlour 
of the Hand and Banner, as a reason for determining 
beforehand that there was not some spiritual force 
within him that might have a determining effect on 
a white-handed gentleman ? There is a legend told 
of the Emperor Domitian, that having heard of a 
Jewish family, of the house of David, whence the 
ruler of the world was to spring, he sent for its 
members in alarm, but quickly released them on 
observing that they had the hands of work-people 
— being of just the opposite opinion with that Rabbi 
who stood waiting at the gate of Eome in confidence 
that the Messiah would be found among the destitute 
who entered there. Bol^ Emperor and Eabbi were 
wrong in their trust of outward signs : poverty and 
poor clothes are no sign of inspiration, said Deronda 
to his inward objector, but they have gone with it 
in some remarkable cases. And to regard disciple^ 



170 DANIEL DERONDA. 

ship as out of the question because of them, would 
be mere dulness of imaginatioD. 

A more plausible reason for putting discipleship 
out of the question was the strain of visionary ex- 
citement in Mordecai, which turned his wishes into 
overmastering impressions, and made him read out- 
ward facts as fulfilment. Was sxrch a ' temper of 
mind likely to accompany that wise estimate of con- 
sequences which is the only safeguard from fatal 
error, even to ennobling motive? But it remained 
to be seen whether that rare conjunction existed or 
not in Mordecai ; perhaps his might be one of the 
natures where a wise estimate of consequences is 
fused in the fires of that passionate belief which 
determines the consequences it believes in. The 
inspirations of the world have come in that way 
too : even strictly measuring science could hardly 
have got on without that forecasting ardour which 
feels the agitations of discovery beforehand, and has 
a faith in its preconception that surmounts many 
failures of experiment. And in relation to human 
motives and actions, passionate belief has a foller 
efficacy. Here enthusiasm may have the validity 
of proof, and, happening in one soul, give the type 
of what will one day be general. 

At least, Deronda argued, Mordecai's visionary 
excitability was hardly a reason for concluding be- 
forehand that he was not worth listening to except 
for pity's sake. Suppose he had introduced him- 
self as one of the strictest reasoners : do they form 
a body of men hitherto free from false conclusions 
and illusory speculations? The driest argument 



BOOK VI. — RETBLATIONS. I7l 

has its haUncinations, too hastily conoludiitg that 
its net will now at last be large enough to hold the 
uniyerse. Men maj dream in. demonstrations, and 
cut out an illusory world in the shape of axioms, 
definitions, and propositions, with a- final exclntfion 
of iaucst signed Q.E.D. Ko formulas for thinking 
will save us mortals fi-om mistake in oui? imperfect 
apprehension of the matter to be thought about. 
And since the unemotional intellect may carry us 
into a mathematical dreamland where nothing is 
but what is not, perhaps an emotional intellect may 
have absOTbed into its passionate vision of possi- 
bilities scHne truth of what will be^ — the more oom- 
prehensive massive life feeding thfeory with new 
material, as the sensibility of the artist seizes com- 
binations which science explains and justifies. At 
any rate, prfisUmptions to the contrary are not to 
be trusted. W© must be patient with the inevitable 
makeshift of our human thinking, whether in its 
sum toial or in the separate minds that have made 
the sum. Columbus had some impressions about 
himself which we call superstitions, and used some 
£y-guments which we disapprove; but he had also 
some true physical ecmoeptions, and he had the 
passionate patience of geoius to make them tell on 
ma2ikind The world has made up its mind rather 
contemptuously about those who were deaf to Col- 
umbus. 

" My contempt for them binds me to see that I 
don't adopt their mistake on a small scale," said 
Deronda, " and make myself deaf with the assump- 
tion that there cannot be any momentous relation 



172 DANIEL DERONDA. 

between this Jew and me, simply becaxtse he has 
clad it in illusory notions. What I can be to himy 
or he to me, may not at all depend on his persuasion 
about the way we came together. To me the way 
seems made up of plainly discernible links. If I 
had not found Mirah, it is probable that I should 
not have begun to be specially interested in the 
Jews, and certainly I should not have gone on that 
loitering search after an Ezra. Cohen which made 
me pause at Ram's book-shop and ask the price of 
Maimon, Mordecai, on his side, had his visions 
of a disciple, and he saw me by their light ; I cor- 
responded well enough with the linage his longing 
had created. He took me for one of his race. Sup-: 
pose that his impression — the elderly J^w at Frank- 
fort seemed to have something like it — suppose, in 
spite of all presumptions to the conta»ry, that his 
impression should somehow be proved true, and 
that I should come actually to share any of the 
ideas he is devoted to? This is the only question 
which really concerns the effect of our meeting 
on my life. 

" But if the issue should be quite different ? — 
well, there will be something painful to go through. 
I shall almost inevitably have to be an active cause: 
of that poor fellow's crushing disappointment. Per- 
haps this issue is the one I had need prepare my 
self for. I fear that no tenderness of mine can 
make his suffering lighter. Would the alternative 
— that I should not disappoint him — ^be less pain- 
ful to me?" 

Here Deronda wavered. Feelings had lately been 



BOOK VI. REVELATIONS. 173 

at work within him which had very much modified 
the reluctance he would formerly have had td think 
of himself as probably a Jew. And, if you like, 
he was romantic. That young enetgy and spirit 
of adventure which have helped to create the world- 
wide legends of youthful heroes going to seek. the 
hidden tokens of their birth and its inheritance of 
tasks, gave him a certain quivering interest in the 
bare possibility that he was entering on a like track 
— aU the more because the track was one of thought 
as well as action. 

" The bare possibility." He could not admit it 
to be more. The belief that his father was an Eng- 
lishman only grew firmer under the weak assaults 
of unwarranted doubt. And that a moment should 
ever come in which that belief was declared a de- 
lusion, was something of which Deronda would not 
say, " I should be glad." His lifelong affection for 
Sir Hugo, stronger than all his resentment, made 
him shrink from admitting that wish. 

Which way soever the truth might lie, he re- 
peated to himself what he had said to Mordecai — 
that he could not without farther reason undertake 
to hasten its discovery. Nay, he was tempted now 
to regard his uncertainty as a condition to be cher- 
ished for the present. If further intercourse re- 
vealed nothing but illusions as what he was ex- 
pected to share in, the want of any valid evidence 
that he was a Jew might save Mordecai the worst 
shock in the refusal of fraternity. It might even 
be justifiable to use the uncertainty on this point 
in keeping up a suspense which would induce Mor- 



174 DANIEL DERONDA. 

decai to accept those offices of friendship that De- 
ronda longed to urge on him. 

These were the meditations that busied Deronda 
in the interval of four days before he could fulfil 
his promise to call for Mordecai at Ezra Cohen's, 
Sir Hugo's demands on him ohen lasting to an hour 
so late a« to put the evening expedition to Holbom 
out of the question. 



176 



CHAPTEK XLII. 



*' Wenn es eine Stufenleiter von Leiden giebt. so hat Israel die hochste 
Staffel erstiegen; venndie Dauer der gchmerzen titid die Oednld, mit 
welcher sie ertragen werden, adeln, so nehmen es die Juden mit den 
Hochgeborenen aller Lander auf ; wenn eine Literatur reich genannt wird, 
die wenige klassische Jrauetspiele besitzt, welcher Fl&tz getrajurt djuin 
einer TragOdie die anderthalb Jahrtausende wahrt, gedichtet umji. darge- 
stellt von den Helden selber?"— ZuNZ: Die SynagogdU Poesie ie^itteU 
aUers. 



" If there are ranks in fiufFering, Israel takes pre- 
cedence of aU the nations — if the duration of 
sorrows and the patience with which they are 
borne ennoble, the Jews are among the aristocracy 
of every land — if a Hteratnre is called rich in the 
possession of a few classic tragedies, what shaD 
we say to a National Tra^dy lasting for fifteen 
hnndred years, in which the. poets and the actors 
were' also the heroes?" 

Deronda had lately been reading that passage 
of Zunz, and it occurred to him by way of contrast 
when he Was going to the Cohens, who certainly 
bore no obvious stamp of distinction in sorrow or 
in any other form of aristocracy. Ezra Cohen was 
not clad in the sublime pathoM of the martyr, and 



1 5^ DANIEL DfiRONDA. 

his taste for money-getting seemed to be fevoured 
with that success which has been the most exas- 
perating difference in the greed of Jews during all 
the ages of their dispersion. This Jeshurun of a 
pawnbroker was not a symbol of the great Jewish 
tragedy ; and yet was there not something typical 
in the' fact that a life like Mordecai's — a frail in- 
corporation of the national consciousness, breathing 
with difficult breath — was nested, in the self-gratu- 
lating ignorant prosperity of the Cohens ? 

Glistening was the gladness in their faces when 
Deronda reappeared among them. Gohen himself 
took occasion to intimate that although the diamond 
ring, let alone a little longer, would have bred more 
money, he did not mind that — not a sixpence — when 
compared with the pleasure of the women and chil- 
dren in seeing a young gentleman whose first visit 
had been so agreeable that they had "done noth- 
ing but talk of it ever since." Young Mrs Cohen 
was very sorry that baby was asleep, and then very 
glad that Adelaide was not yet gone to bed, en- 
treating Deronda not to stay in the shop but to go 
forthwith into the parlour to see " mother and the 
children."' He willingly accepted the invitation, 
having provided himself with portable presents ; 
a set of paper figures for Adelaide, and an ivory 
cup and ball for Jacob. 

The grandmother had a pack of cards befoire her 
and was making "plates" with the children. A 
plate had just been thrown down and kept itself 
whola 

** Stop ! " said Jacob, running up to Deronda as 



BOOK VI. EETELATIONS. T'77 

he entered " Don't tread on my plate. Stop and 
see me throw it np again." 

Deronda complied, excbcwiging a smile of under 
standing with the grandmother, and the plate bore 
several tossings before it came to pieces-; then the 
visitor was allowed to come forward and seat him- 
self. He observed that the door from which Mor- 
decai had issued on the former visit was now closed, 
but he wished to show his interest in the Oohens 
before disclosing a yet stronger interest in their 
singular inmate. 

It was not until he had Adelaide on his knee, and 
was setting up the paper figures in their dance on 
the table, while Jacob was already practising with 
the cup and ball, that Deronda said — 

" Is Mordecai in just now ? " 

" Where is he, Addy ? " said Cohen, who had Seized 
an interval of business to come and look on. 

" In the workroom there," said his wife, nodding 
towards the closed door. 

"The fact isj sir," said Cohen, "we don't know 
what's come to him this lasl day dr two. He's aK 
wayfi what I may call a little touohfed, you know" 
— here Cohen pointed to his own forehead— "not 
quite to say rational in all things, like you and me ; 
but he's mostly wonderful regular and industrious 
as far as a poor i creature can be, and takes as 
much deHght in the boy as anybody could. But 
this last day or two he's ' been moving about 
like a sleep-walker, or else sitting- as still as' a 
wax figure." 
'"It's th« diaease, poor dear creature," said the 



178 DANIEL DERONDA. 

grandmother, tenderly. "I doubt whether he can 
stand long against it." 

" No ; I think it's only something he's got in ihis 
head," said Mrs Cohen the younger. "He's been 
tuiJning over writing cantinually, and when 1 speak 
to him it takes him ever so long to hear and 
answer/' 

" You may think us a little weak ourselves," saDd 
Cohen, apologetically. "But my < wife and mother 
wouldn't part ^th him if he was a still worse en- 
cumbrance. It isn't that we don't know the long 
and short of matters, but it's our principle. There's 
fools do business at a loss and don't know it. I'm 
not one of 'em." < 

" Oh, Mordecai carries a blessing inside him," said 
the grandmother. 

" He's got something the matter inside him," said 
Jacob, coming up to correct this erratum of his 
grandmother's. "He said he couldn't talk to me, 
and he wouldn't have a bit o' bun." 

" So far from wondering at your feeling for him," 
said Deronda, " I already feel something of the tome 
sort myself. I have lately talked to him at Ram's 
book-shop — in fact, I pramided to call for him here, 
that we might go out together." 

" That's it, then I " said Cohen, slapping his knee. 
"He's been expecting you, and it's taken hold of 
him. I suppose he talks about his learning to you. 
It's uncommonly kind of yoM, sir ; for I don't sup* 
pose there's much to be got out of it, else it wouldn't 
have left him where he is. But there's the Shop." 
Ophen hurried out, and Jacobs who had been listen- 



BOOK VI. ^EEVEIATIONS. 179 

ing inoonveniently near to Deibnda'S elbow, said rto 
him with obliging femiliarity, " I'll call Mordecai for 
you, if yoii like." 

" No, Jacob," said his mother ; " open the door for 
the gentleman, and let him go in himseH Hnsh ! 
don't make a noise." 

Skilful Jabob seemed to enter into the play, and 
turned the handle of the door as noiBelessly as pos- 
sible, while Derohda went behmd him and stood on 
the thireshold. The small rdom was lit only by a 
dying fire and one candle with a shade over. it. On 
the board fixed under the window, various objects of 
jewellery were scat?tered : some books were heaped 
in th.e comer beyond them. Mordecai was seated 
on a high chair at the board with his back to the 
door, his hands resting 0n each other a^d on the 
board, a watch propped on a stand before him. He 
was in a state of expectaticHi as sickening as that 
of a prisoner listening for the delayed deliverance— 
when he heard Derohda's voice saying, " I am come 
for you. Are you ready ? " 

Immediately he turned' without speaking, seized 
his furred cap which lay near, and moved to joiii 
Deronda. It was. but a nioinent before they were 
both in the? sitting-room, and Jacob, noticing the 
change in his friend's ail* and expiression, seized him 
by the arm and said, " See my cup and ball ! " send* 
ing the ball up close to Moniecai's face, as some* 
thing likely to cheer accinvalescent. It was a sign 
of the relieved tension in Mordecai's mind that he 
could smile and say, *^J'ine, fine I" 

"You have forgotten your greatcoat and oamr 



180 DANIEL DERONDA. 

forter,'* said young MrS' Cohen, and he went back 
into the workroom and got them. 

"He's come to life again, do you see?^' said 
Cohen, who had re-entered — speaking in an under 
tone. ■ "I told you so:- Fm mostly right." • Then in 
his usual voice, "Well, sir, we mustn't detain you 
now, I suppose 5 but I hope this isn't the last time 
we shall see you." 

! ' " Shall you ootne again ? " said Jacob, advancing. 
" See, I can catch the ball ; I'll bet I catch it without 
stopping, if you come again." 

" He has clever hands," said Deronda, looking at 
the grandmother. " Which side of the femily does 
he get them from ? " 

But the grandmother only nodded towards her son, 
who said promptly, " My side. My wife's family are 
not in that line. But, bless your soul I ours is a sort 
of cleverness as good as gutta percha; you can twist 
it which way you like. There's nothing some old 
gentlemen won't do if you set 'eiti to it.'' Here 
Cohen winked down at Jacob's back, but it was 
doubtful whether this judicious allusiveness answered 
its purpose, for its subject gave a nasal whinnying 
laugh and stamped about- singing, " Old gentlemen, 
old gentlemen," in chiming cadence. 

Deronda thought, " I shall never know anything 
decisive about these people until I ask Cohen point* 
blank whether he lost a sister named Mirah when 
she was six years old." The decisive moment did 
not yet seem easy for him to face. Still his first 
sense of repidsion at the commoimess of these people 
was beginning to be tempered with kindlier feeling. 



BOOK VI.- — REVELATIONS. 181 

However tmrefined their airs and speech might be, 
he was forced to admit some moral refinement in 
their treatment of the consumptive workman, whose 
mentai distinction impressed them chiefly as a harm- 
less, silent raving. 

" The Cohens seem to have an affection for you," 
said Deronda, as soon as he and Mordeoai were off 
the doorstep, 

"And I for them," was the immediate answer. 
" They have the heart of the Israelite within them, 
though they are as the horse and the mule, without 
understanding beyond the narrow path they tread." 

*^ I have caused you some uneasiness, I fear," said 
Deronda, " by my slowness in fulfilling my promise. 
I wished to come yesterday, but I found it impos- 
sible." 

*< Yes-*-yes, I trusted you. But it is true I have 
been uneasy, for the spirit of my youth has been 
stirred within me, and this body is not strong enough 
to bear the beating of its wings. I am as a man 
boimd and imprisoned through long years : behold 
him brought to speech of his fellow and his limbs 
eet free : he weeps, he totters, the joy within him 
threatens to break and overthrow the tabernacle 
of fleak" 

" You must not speak too much in this evening 
air," said Deronda, feeling Mordecai's words bf re- 
liance like so many cords binding him painfully. 
" Cover your mouth with the woollen scarf. We are 
going to the Hand and Banner, I suppose, and shall 
be in private there?" 

"No, that is my trouble that you did not 6ome 



182 DAI^IEL DERONDA. 

yesterday. For this is the evening of the club I 
spoke, of, and we might not have any minntes alone 
until late, wh^n all' the rest are gone. Perhaps we 
had better seek another place. But I am ijised to 
that only. In new places the outer world presses 
on., me and narrows the inward vision. And the 
people there are ^miliar with my face." 

" I don't mind the club if I am allowed to go in," 
said Deronda, "It is enough that you like this 
place best. If we bavei not enough time, I will 
come again. What sort of club is it ? " 

^*It is oaUed, ^The Philosophers.' They are few 
— like the cedars of Lebanon^— 'poor men giv6n to 
thought. But none so poor as I am : and sometimes 
visitors of higher worldly rank have been brought. 
We are sdlowed to introduce a fidend, who is inter- 
ested in our topics. Each orders beer or some other 
kind of ;drink, in payment for the room. Most df 
them .smoke. I have gone when I could, for there 
are other mei^ of my i race who come, and sometimes 
I have broken silence. I have pleased myself wiih 
a faint likeness between these poor philosophers and 
the. Masters who handed down the thought of our 
race —r- the great Tran«mitter8, who laboured with 
their hands for scant bread, but preserved and en* 
larged for us the heritage of memory, and saved the 
soul .of Israel alive as a seed among the tombs. The 
heart pleases itself with feint resemblances.'' 

" I shall be very glad to go and sit among them, 
if that will suit you. It is a sort of meeting I should 
like to join in," said Deronda, not without relief in 
tjie prospect of an interval before he went through 



BOOK VI.-*-REVEIATIONS. 183 

ihe strain of hid next private oonversation witd 
Mordecai. 

In three miiiutes they had opened the glased door 
with the red curtain, and were in tiie little parlour^ 
hardly much more than fifteen feet square, where 
the gaslight shone through a slight haze of smoke 
oa what to Deronda was a new and striking soeUe* 
Half-a-dozen men of yarious ages, from between 
twenty and thirty to fifty, all shabbily dressed, most 
of them with clay pipes in their mouths, were listen^ 
ing with a look of concentrated intelligence to a 
man in a pepper-and-salt dress, with blond hair, 
short nose, broad forehead and general bresulth, 
who, holding his pipe slightly uplifted in the left 
hand, and beating his knee with the right, was just 
finishing a quotation from Shelley (the comparison of. 
the avalanche in his "Prometheus Unbound") — 

" As thought by thdnght is piled, till some great truth 
Is loosened, and the nations echo round/' 

The entrance of the new-comers broke the fixity 
of attention, and called for a re-arrangement of seats 
in the too narrow semicircle round the fireplace 
and the table holding the glasses, spare pipes, and 
tobia.cdo. This was the soberest of clubs ; but 
sobriety is no reason why smoking and "taking 
somethiiig" should be less imperiously needed as 
a means of getting a decent status in company and 
debate. Mordecai was received with welcoming 
voices which had a slight cadence of compassicm in 
them, but naturally all glances passed immediately 
to his companion; 

" I have brought a friend who is interested in ^our 



184 DANIEL DERONDA. 

subjects," said Mordecai. "He has travelled and 
studied much." 

"Is the gentleman anonymous? Is he a Great 
Unknown?" said the broad-chested quoter of Shel* 
ley, with a humorous air, 

"iMy name is Daniel Deronda. 1 am unknown, 
but not in any sense great." The smile breaking 
over the stranger's grave face as he said this was 
so agreeable that there was a general indistinct 
murmur, equivalent to a "Hear, heaty'Vand the 
broad man said — i 

"You recommend the name, sir, and are welcome. 
Here, Mordecai, come to this coiner against me," he 
added, evidently wishing to give the coziest place to 
the one who most needed it. 

' Defonda was well satisfied to get a seat on the 
opposite side, where his general survey of the party 
easily included Mordecai, who remained an emi- 
nently striking object in this group of fiharj)ly-char- 
acteiised figures, more than one of whom, even to 
DanieVs little exercised discrimination, seemed prob* 
ably of Jewish descent. 

In fact, pure English blood (if leedh or lancet can 
famish us with the precise product) did not declare 
itself predominantly in the party at present assem- 
bled. Miller, the broad man, an exceptional second- 
hand bookseller who knew the insides of books, bad 
at least grand-parents who called themselves Qer* 
man, and possibly far-away ancestors who denied 
themselves to be Jews ; Buchan, the saddler, was 
Scotch; Pash, the watchmaker, was a small, dark, 
vivacious, triple-baked Jew; Gideon, the optical 



B00.¥ VI. rREYELATIONS. 185 

ingtramesit maker, w^ a Je^>,of the red-haired^ 
gemerons-featured type easily pb-sising for English- 
men of imusually .cordial manners ; and GroOp, th<^ 
darkr:eyed shoemaker, was probahly more Celtic than 
he kiqiew. Only three wpnld have been, disoemible 
everywhere a? Englishmen : . the wpod-inlayer Good- 
win,, well'bnilt, open-faced, pleasant- voiced ; the 
dorid laboratory assistant Marrables ; and Lilly, the 
pala, neat-faoed copying clerk, whose light-brown 
hair was $et up in a small parallelogram above his 
well-filled forehead, and whose shirt, taken with an 
otherwise seedy oostumoy had a freshness that might 
be called insular^ j%nd. peihaps even something nar- 
rower, , 

Gertautiljr a company select of the select among 
poor men, being drawn together by a taste not prev- 
alent even among the privileged heirs of learning 
and its institutions ; and not likely to amuse any 
gentleman in search of crime or low comedy as the 
ground of interest in people whose weekly inooaie 
is only divisible into shillings. Deronda, even if he 
bad not been more than usually. inclined to gravity 
under the influence- of what was pending, between 
him and Mordecai, would not hav.et set himself to 
fiud food for laughter in the various shades of det 
parture from the tone of polished society sure to be 
observable in the air and talk of these men who had 
probably snatched knowledge >as most of us snatch 
indulgences^ making the upmost of scaat oppor- 
tunity. He looked around him with the quiet air 
of respect habitual to him among equals, ordered 
whisky and water, and 0:fifered the dontente of hifi 
VOL. II. G 



186 DANIEL DERONDA. 

cigar-case, wlifoli, characteristically enough, he al- 
ways carried and hardly ever used for his own be- 
hoof, having reasons for liot smoking himself, but 
liking to indulge others. • Perhaps it was his weak- 
ness to be afraid of seeining strait-laced, and turning 
himself into a sort of diagram instead of a' growth 
which can exercise the guiding attraction of fellow- 
ship. That he maide a decidedly winning 'impression 
on 'the oondpany was proved by their showing them- 
selves no less at ease than* before, aAld desirous of 
quic&ly resuming their interrupted talk. ■ 

*^This is what I call one of our touch and go 
niglits, sir," said Miller, who wias implicitly accepted 
as a sort of moderator — addressing Deronda by way 
of explanation, and nodding toward each person 
whose name he mentioned. " Sometitnee we ^ick 
pretty clobe to the point. But to-night our friend 
Pash, there, brought up the law of progress, and 
we got on statistics ; then Lilly, there, saying we 
knew well enough before counting that in the same 
state of society the same sort of things would hap- 
pen, and it was no more wonder that quantities 
should remain the same than that qualities should 
remain the same, for in relation to society numbers 
are qualities — the number of drunkards is a quality 
in society — the numbers are an index to the quali- 
ties, and give us no instruction, only setting us to 
consider the causes of difference between different 
social states — ^Lilly saying this, we went off on the 
causes of social change, and when you came in I 
was going upon the power of ideas, wti^h I hold 
to be the main transforming cause." 



BOOK VI. REVELATIONS. 187 

" I don't hold with you there, Miller," said Good- 
win, the inlayer, more conoemed to coatry on the 
subject than to wait for a word from the new guest. 
" For either you mean so many sorts of things by 
ideas that I get no knowledge by what you say, 
any more than if you said light was a cause ; or else 
you mean a particular sort of ideas, and then I go 
against your meaning as too narrow. For, look at 
it in one way, all actions men put a bit of thought 
into are ideas — say, sowing seed, or making a oanoe, 
or baking clay ; and such ideas as these work them- 
selves into life and go on growing with it, but they 
can't go apart from the material that set them to 
work and makes a medium for them. It*s the nature 
of wood and stone yielding to the knife that raises 
the idea of shaping tliem, and with plenty of wood 
and stone the shaping will go on. I look at it, 
that such ideas as are mixed straight away with 
all the other elements of life are powerful along 
with 'eta. The slower the mixing, the less power 
they have. And as to the causes of social change, 
I look at it in this way -^ ideas are a sort of par- 
liament, bat there's a commonwealth outside, and 
a good deal of the commonwealth is working at 
change without knowing what the parliament is 
doing." 

"But if you take 'ready mixing as your test of 
power," said Pash, " some of the least practical ideas 
beat everything. They spread ^thout being under- 
stood, and enter into the language without being 
thought of." 

" They may act by changing the distribution of 



190 DANIEL DEROKDA. 

and; acts, and the degrees of wisdom in hastening or 
retarding ; there will still remain the' danger of tfris- 
taking a tendency which should be resisted for an 
inevitaible law that we must adjust ourselves to, ^— 
which seems to ite as bad a superstition or false 
god as aniy that has been set up without the cere- 
monies of phil6sophising'." 

" That is. a truth," said Mordecai. " Woe to the 
men. who see no place for resistance in this genera- 
tion I I believe in a growth, a passage^ and a new 
unfolding of life whereof the seed is more perfect, 
more charged with the elements that are pregnant 
with diviner form. The life of a people grows, it is 
knit together and yet expanded, in joy and sorrow, 
in thought and action; it absorbs the thought of 
other nations into its own forms, and gives back 
the thought as new wealth to^ the world ; it is a 
power and an organ in the great body of the 
nations. But there may come a check, an arrest ; 
memories may be stifled, iand love ■ may be faint fot 
the ' lack of them ; or memories may shrink mto 
withered relics — the soul of a people, whereby 
they know themselves to be one, may seem ' to 
be dying for. want of common action. But who 
shall say, * The fountain of their life is dfied up, 
they shall for ever cease to be a nation'? Who 
shall say it ? Not he who feels the life of his people 
stirring within his oWn. Shall he say, * That way 
events are wendit^, I will not resist ' ? His very 
soul is resistance, and is as a seed of fire that may 
enkindle the souls of multitudes, and make a new 
pathway for events." 



BOOK VI.'-^KEVEUtTIONS. 189 

but nowhere else. The whole current of progress is 
setting against it.**^ 

"Ay/' said Buchan, in a rapid thin Scotch tone 
which was like the letting in of a little cool air on 
the conversation, " ye've done well to bring us round 
to the point. Ye're all agreed that societies change 
— not always and everywhere — but* on the whole 
and in the long-run. Now,- with all deference, I 
would beg t'oljserve that we have got to examine 
the nature of changes before we have a warrant to 
call them progress, which word is supposed to in- 
clude a bettering, though I apprehend it to be ill 
chosMi for that purpose, since mea?e motion onward 
may carry us to a bog or a precipice. And the 
questione I would put are three : Is all change in 
the direction of progress? if not, how shall we dis- 
cern which change is progress and which not? and 
thirdly, how far and in what ways can We act upon 
rthe course of change so as to promote it Where it is 
beneficial^ and divert it where it is injurious?" 

But Buohan's attempt to impose his method on 
the. talk was a failure. Lilly immediately said — 

" Change and progress are merged in the idea of 
development. The laws of development are being 
discovered, and changes taking place according to 
them are necessarily progtessive ; that is to say, if 
we have any notion of progress or improvement 
opposed to them, the notion is a mistake." 

" I really can't see how you arrive at that sort of 
certitude about changes by calling them develop- 
ment," saad Deronda.' " There will still remain the 
degrees of inevitableness in relation to our own will 



1 9 & ' ■ DANIEL DEHOm) A. 

the i fate of a missionarjtbteaiahawked withont any 
coBsidei^te rejection of his doctrines seemS' 'hardly 
worthy of compassion. But Moirdebgrt ^ve no sign 
of shrinking : this was a moment of spiritnal fol- 
ness, and he eared more for th« ntteran(5e of hid fftith 
than for ills immediate reception. With afervoUr 
which hadi no temper in it, biit seiimed rfethef.the 
rush of feeling in the opporttinity of- speech, he 
iinswered Pash:-*- ' 

: " What I say is, let every mfan keep far aWay from 
the Ijrotherhood and the inheritance he despises* 
Thousands • on thousands^ of our race have mi:i;!ed 
with the Gentile as Celt with Saxon, and thfey 
may inherit the blessihg that belongs to the Geii- 
tilej You canaot follow them. You are one of the 
multitudes over this globed who must walk among 
tlie nations and be known ad Jews, and with' Words 
On their lips which mean, ^1 wish I had not beem 
bom a Jew,- 1 disown any bond with the long travti.il 
of my race^ I will outdo the Gentile m mookiilg at 
our separateness,' they all the while fbel bi^eathing 
on them the breath of- contempt because they are 
Jews, and they will breathe it back poisonously. 
Can a fresh* made garment of citizenship Weave 
itself straightway into the flesh and- change' the 
slow deposit of eighteen centuries? What is the 
citizeiiship of him who walks among a people' he 
has no hearty kindred and fellowship with, and 
has lest the '.sense of brotherhood :mth hib own 
race ? It is a charter of selfish* toibition and^ 
rivalry in low greed. - fie is an dlien in spirit, 
whatevet he ngwiy be in form ; he sucks the blood 



BOOK, i VI.— KEYELATIONS. 193 

of mankind) he ianot aimaub . Sharing in no lovfe^ 
sharing inj no subjection of, the feouly he mocks at 
alL Is it not truth I.«peak, Pash?" 

"Isot exactly, Mordecai,** saidF^sh^ ^^liflyowi mefiai 
th&t I think therwoise of mj^self fdr.f being a Jew. 
What I: thank onr .fethers for is that -therb are 
fewer blookheads am(^ U8> ithan atiiong dth^ rices. 
But 'perhaj)« your are right in lihikki^g fcbe €liris- 
tians don't like /mfe do ^ell fof it.'* . / ./ .» 

" Catholics land- P<rt)testantte have not likedi eaoli 
other anudi betlb^r," said+the .genial G-ideon.: ^We 
mxiBt wait patiently for preiudiices 'to die cmt*. - .Many 
of onr people ' aaje . on a footing! with the best,', and 
there^a been a good filtering of oar blood j into high 
families! I am fori making our iexpeotations 'rational.i'[ 

^^'And s^ am 11" said Mordeeaiy iqniefcly^ leafning 
fbrtfc^ard with the ^a^eniess of one. who pleads ini 
some decisiv,© crisi^j hi^ long thin. haa^ds- clasped^ 
togetheniotii. his'^lap* "I too claim -to be. a rational 
Jew. Bttlt what. is it to be rational-rtwhat is itito 
feel th^ light of the divane reason growing, stronigen 
yithin and without? It is to see more i and moirfej 
'f the hidden -bonds that bdndiiahd consecrate bhatige 
Is a dependent growth— yea, consecrate it wi^hkm-- 
\ip: the past becomes my parenft, and the future 
•tretches towards me the appealing arms ofichil-' 
Ireh. Is it rational to drain away the sap of special' 
iindued that makfes the famdliefi of man rich' in in-^ 
terchanged Wealtlv a^d various as the forests $ixe\ 
vario-us with • the- g^ory of the cedar and ^the pfalm 7 
When it is 'rational to say, M know; not my father 
>r my mother; let my children be: aliens to me, 



194 DANIEL DERONDA. 

that no prayer of mine may' touch them/ then it 
I will be rational for the = Jew to say, * I Will seek 
, to know no difference bett^een me and the ^Gen- 
tile, I will not' cherish the prophetic consciousness 
of our nationality — let the Hebrew cease to be, 
and let all his memorials be antiquarian trifles, 
dead as the wall-paintings of <a conjectured race. 
Yet fet his child learn by rote th^e spefCcll of the 
Greek, where he adjuires his fellow-Jcitizens by the 
bravery of those who fought foreiiiost at Marathon 
^-^let him learn lo say, thdt was noble in the Greek, 
that • is 'the spirit of a^ immortal nation ! But 
the J^w has no irien;ioiies that bind him to action ; 
let him laugh' thart his nation is degraded fipm a 
nation; let him hold the monuments of his v Jaw 
whiok carried within its frame the breath of social 
justice, of charity, and of household sahctities—Vlet 
him hold the energy of the prophets, the patitnt 
care of the Masters, tiie fortitude of mar^jnAed 
generations, as mere stuff for a professorship. Tl^e 
business of the Jew in all things is ' to be even 
the rich Gentile.' " 

Mordec3ii threw himiaelf baxfek in his chair, ao 
thejfe was a moment's silence. Not' oiie memla* 
of the club shored his point of view or his emotic » 
but hife whole personality and speech had on tht s 
the effect of a dramatic representation which hi 4 
some pathos in it, though no practical con8equenoes^ 
and iisaally he was at once indulged and contra I 
dieted, Deronda's mind went back on what miip i 
have be^ the tragic) pressure of outward condition * 
hindering this man, whose force h« felt to be tel c. 



i 



BOOK VI. — KEYELATIONS. 195 

ipg on himaelii from making any world for his 
tiionght in the tqinds of others-— like a poet among 
people of a strange . bpeeoh, who may have a poetry 
of their own, but haVe no ear fOr his cadenoe, no 
answering thrilj to his discovery of latent yirtufia^ 
in his mother todgue. 

The cool Buchan was the first; to speak, and hint 
the loss of tima „ " I submit," said he, " that y«'re 
travelhng a^ay from the questions I put concerning 
progress*" : 

"Say th^y're levanting, Buchan," said Miller, who 
liked his joke, and would not have cA)jected to be^ 
called Voltairian. ."Never mind. Let us have a 
Jewish pight; y^e've not had one for a long while. 
Let us take the discussion on Jewish ground. I 
suppQse weVe no prejudice here ; we're all phil- 
osophers ; and we like our friends Mordeoai, Pash, 
and Gideon, as well as if they were no more kin 
to Abraham than the rest of us. We're all related 
through Adam, until farther showing to the con- 
trary, and if you look into history we've all got 
some discreditable forefathers. So I mean no ojffenoe 
when I say I. don't think any great things of the 
part the Jewish people have played in the world. 
What then? I think they were iniquitously dealt 
by in past times. -And I suppose we- don't 'want' 
any men to be maltreated, . white, black, brown, or 
yellow — I know Fve just given my half-crown to 
the contrary. And that reminds md, I've a curious 
old German book — ^^I can't: read it myself,' but a 
fiiend was reading out of it to me the other day 
— Hibout the prejudices against the Jews, and the 



1^96 DAJflBL DERONDA. 

sfories used'to betold iagainst 'em', and what do 
you think qne wais ? Why, that they're punished 
with a bad odour in ' their* bqdie^} and < to, says' 
the author, date 1715 (I've just been pricing and 
maarking the book this very moriliing) — that is 
true, for the ancients spoke of it; But then, be 
sayiS, the other things are fables, such as that 
the odour g'oes i away all at once when they're baj>- 
tisedy and that every one of the ten tribes, mind 
you, all the ten being concerned in the crucifixion, 
has got a particukr punishment over and ' above 
the smell : — Ashet-j T remember, has the right arm 
a handbreadth shof-terthan t^e left, aiid Naphthali 
has pigs' ears and a smell of live pOrk. What do 
you ^think of that? There's- be^n a good deal of 
fun made of 'rabbinical fables, but in point- of iables 
my opinion; is, that all over the world it's' six of 
one and half-ardozen of the other. Howfever, as I 
said before^; I hold with the phik)86]f)hiei*s of the 
last century that the JeWs have: played no great 
part as a people, though Fash will have it 'they're 
clever enough td beat alL the- rest ofi the World. 
Biit if so, I iask, why ha-^en't they'^d6ne it?" 
. *^For the same ;beasaa that; the cleverest men. 
in the country don't get themselves' or their ideas 
into Parliament,"' .said the 're«Uiy Pash ; :<'^ because 
the blockheads are ±00. mlany for 'em/' 

•" That is' a vain question," said Mordeoai, "whether 
our people woilild ,beat the rest of the world. Each 
nation has its. own! work,' -and is a mfember of the 
world, enriched by. the work of each; But it is 'trtie, 
as Jehuda-ha-Levi .first said, tha)6 Israel is the heart 



BOOK VL «EV£LATIONS. 197 

of mankind, if we mean by heeirt the core of affection 
which binds a race and ita families in d^ti&l love^ 
aiid the reverence far the human body which lifts 
the ieeds of onr animal life into religion, and the 
tenderness which is merciful to the poor and weak 
and to the' diimb creature that wears the yoke for Us-*' 

** They're .not behind any nation in arrogan-ce," 
said lilly ; " and if they have got in the rear, it has 
not been because tliey were over-modest." 

" Oh, every nation brags in itfe turn," said Miller. 

" Yes," said Pash, " and sOme of them in the 
HebJrew te^t." 

" WeU, whatever the Jews contributed at one time, 
they aire a istand-still people," said Lilly. "They 
ai^e the type pf obstinate adherence to the super- 
annuat€|d* They may .^how good abilities T^hen 
they take up lib^al'idea$, but as a racer th^y have 
no develojHnent in them*" 

" That is false ! " said Mordecai, leaning fpirw^-rd 
ag&isa with; his formet eagi^rness, " Let their history 
be known ,and examined ; let the seed be sifted, let 
its beginning be traced to the weed of the wilderness 
— the more, glorious will be the energy that trans- 
fiarmedit. Where else is there a nation of whcwn it 
may be as truly said that their, -religion and law and 
mioral life mingled as the stream of blood in the h^tt 
and made one growth — where else a people who kept 
and enlarged their / spiritual store at the very.ftime 
when they were hunted with a hatred as; fier<iHd< as 
the forest fit^s that/ chase the wild beast &om his 
covert? There is a fdble.of the Soman, that swim- 
miviig to save his life he held thie roll of his writings 



198 DANIEL DERONDA. 

between his teeth and saved them fix)m the waters. 
But how much more than that is true of our race ? 
They struggled to keep their place among the nations 
like heroes — yea, when the hand was hacked off, 
they clung with the teeth; but when the plough and 
the harrow had passed over the last visible signs of 
their national covenant, and the fruitfalness of their 
land was stifled with the blood of the sowers and 
planters, they said, * The spirit is alive, let us make 
it a lasting habitation — lasting because movable — 
so that it may be carried from generation to genera- 
tion, and our sons unborn may be rich in the things 
that have been, and possess- a hope built on an 
unchangeable foundation/ They said it and they 
wrought it, though often breathing with scant life, 
as in a coffin, or as lying wounded amid a heap of 
slain. Hooted and scared like the unknown dog, the 
Hebrew made himself envied for his wealth and wis- 
dom, and was bled of them to fill the bath of Gen- 
tile luxury ; he absorbed knowledge, he diffused it ; 
his dispersed race was a new Phcenicia working the 
mines of Greece and carrying their products to the 
world. The native spirit of our tradition Was not to 
stand still, but to use records as a seed, and draw 
out the compressed virtues of law and prophecy; and 
while the Gentile, who had said, ' What is yours is 
ours, and no longer yours,' was reading the letter of 
our law as a dark inscription, or was turning its 
parchments into shoe-soles for an army rabid with 
lust and cruelty, our Masters were still enlarging 
and illuminating with fresh-fed interpretation. But 
the dispersion was wide, the yoke of oppression was 



BOOK VI. KEYELATIONS. 199 

a Bpiked tortui^ as well as a load*, the exile was 
forced ahx among brutish people, where the con- 
Bciousnees of his race was no clearer to him than the 
light of the sun to our fathers in the Roman persie- 
cution, who had their hiding«place in a cave, and 
knew not that it was day saye by the dimmer burn- 
ing of their oandleB. What wonder that multitudes 
of our people are ignorant, narrow, supenstitioiis ? 
What wonder?" 

Here Mordecai, whose seat was next the fireplace, 
rose and leaned his arm on the little shelf; his excite- 
ment had risen, though his voice, whidi had begun 
with unusual strength, was getting hoarser. 

^^What wonder? The night is unto them, that 
they haye no vision ; in their darkness they are unable 
to divine ; the sun is gone down over the prophets, 
and the day is dark above them ; their observances 
are as nameless relics. But which among the chief 
of the Gentile nations has not an. ignorant ^multi- 
tude ? They scorn omr people's ignorant observance ; 
but the most accursed ignorance is that which has no 
observance — sunk to the cimning greed of the fox, 
to which all law is no more than a trap or the cry of 
the worrying hound. There is a degradation deep 
down below the memory that has withered into super- 
stitiom . In the multitudes of the ignorant on three 
contiheBtB who observe our rites and make the ooBf 
fession of the divine Unity, the soul of Judaism is 
not dead. Revive the organic centre : let the unity 
of Israel which has made the growth and form of its 
religion be an outwaitd reality. Looking towards a 
land and a p(dity, our dispersed people in all the ends 



200 DANIEL DERONDA. . 

of the earth may' share t^e dignity of ai national life 
which htei» a voice among the peoples' of th-e East and 
the West -+* which will plant the 'wisdom and ftkiH 
of our race so that it may be, as of old^ a mediu^rn of 
transmission and nnderstandiiig. Let that- come to 
passy and the living warmth will spreatd to the weak 
extremkies of Israel^ and i§uperstition> will - vanish, 
not in the lawlessness of the renegadb, but m the 
illumination of great facts which widen -feeling, and 
'make all knowledge alive as the youog offfepring of 
beloved meittiories/' > mi '. 

MordeoaiiS voice had sunk, but with thjeii hectic 
brilliancy (rf his gaze it was not the ilees impire*- 
fiive. His extraordinary excitement was certainly 
due- to Derorida's presence : it was to Deronda that 
he w^ speaking, and ^e moment had a testament- 
ary solemnity for him which ralUed all hiia powers: 
Yet the presence of tho«e other familiar : men = pro- 
rubted expression, for they embodied the; indiffeitence 
"whioh gave a resistant energy to his speedh. Not 
that he looked at Deronda : h^ seemed to see nothing 
immediately around :him, and if any one liad gmsped 
him he Would probably not have known it. • Again 
the former words came babk to. Deronda's mind,-^ 
" YoTi must hope my hopes— see the vision I poinib 
to— behold a glory where I behold it" -They oame 
now with gathered pathos. Befwe him stood, as a 
living, sufFeiring reality, what hithefto he had only 
Seen as an effort) of imagination, which, in' its cctm- 
pariative faintne^s, yet carriied a suspicion of being 
exaggerated: a tnan steeped in poverty and ob- 
scurity, weakened by disease, ccmscioiably within the 



BOOK VI. RBVKLAO^IONS. 201 

shadomr oi' advaxLcing d^ath^ >bnt- living mXi inteitE^e 
life in an invisible past and futnrei, oareless of bis 
personal lot, except for its possibly* making sonne 
Oibetructiott to a conceived good which he would 
never share except as a brief inwaird vision-^a da}'; 
a&r oflF, whose sun would never warm hini, but into 
whioh he threw .his souVs ) desire, with a: pkssioti 
often wanting to 'the persoaial motives oi'' healthy 
youth. It. was something move than a grandibs^ 
ttAuafignxalioti ^ the.:paapental love that toils, re- 
nounces^ >endurep, resists the siiicidal prompdngs of 
deiEqpair-i^all because of the little ones^' whose Aiture 
beoomes present ta the yearning gaze of anxiety. 

All eyes were fixed' on Mordebai> as he sat down 
again, and. none :with unkindness ;. but it bia^ened 
that iikft one who felt the most. kindly, was iih« inost 
prompted t<» -speak in oppositioii. Thisiwks iihe 
genial and rational Gidfeon^ who also wias not wifehi. 
out a Bense that he . was addressing the guest' of 
the ev^njaii^. He said — • ' f 

" You have your own way of looking at things^ 
Mordecai, and^ as .you -say, your own way sefems t6 
you ratidnal.' I.ihhotv; you don't- hold with the resi- 
toination to Judea by miracle, and so on ; but you are 
as well' aware as I iam -tiiat the subject has. beeii 
mixed with a heap of nonsense both by Jews- and 
Christians. And as to the connection of our rade with 
Pdilestine, it has been perverted by superstition i tiM 
it's as demomlising as; the old poor4a\fc'. TheilaflP 
ai)d soum go there to beiitiauitained like able-bodied 
paupets, and to be :takeil special care of by the 
angdl Gabriel wbem they dia It's no use • fighting 



202 DANIEL DERQNDAi 

against facts. We must l6ok where they point ; 
that's, what I call rationality. The most learned amd 
liberal men among us who are attached to our re^ 
ligion are for clearing out liturgy of all such notions 
as a literal fulfilment of the prophecies about' restora- 
tion; and so on. Prune it of a few useless rites and 
literal interpretations of that soajt, and our religion 
is the simplest of all religions, and nkakes no barrier, 
but a union, betwe^a us and the rest of the world." 

"Ab plain as a' pike-stajff,'' said Pash, Vfqith an 
ironioal.laugh. "You pluck it up by the roots, 
strip off the leaves and bark, shave off the knots, 
and i^mooth it at top and bottom ; put it where you 
will, it will do no harm, it will never sprout. You 
may make a handle of it, or you may throw it on 
the bonfire of scoured rubbish. I don't see why our 
rubbish, is to be held saored any more than thd 
rubbish. of Brahmanism or Bouddhism." 

"No," said Mordecai, ^^ no, Pash, because you 
have lost the heart of the Jew. Community was 
felt befote it was called good. I praise no supersti- 
tion, I praise the- living fountains of enlarging be- 
lief. What is growth, completion, development? 
You began with that question, I apply it to th« 
history of our people. I say that the effect of oui^ 
separateness will not be completed and have itB 
highest transformation unless our race tak^s on 
again the character of a nationality. That is the 
fulfilment of the religious trust that moulded them 
into a people, whose life- has made half the inspira- 
tion of the worl(}. What is it to me that the ten 
tribes are loet untraceably, or that multitudes of the 



BOOK VI. — ^REYELATIONS. 203 

children of Judah have mixed themselveg with the 
Grentile populations as a river with rivers ? Behold 
our people still I Their skirts spread afar; they 
are torn and soiled and trodden on ; but there is a 
jewelled br8a8t5)late. Let the wealthy iHen, the mon- 
archs of commeixje, the learned in all knowledge, 
the skilful in all arts, the speakers, the political 
counsellors, who carry in their veins the Hebrew 
blood which has maintained its vigour in all ohm» 
ates, and the pliancy of the Hebrew genius for which 
difficulty means new device — ^let them say, * we will 
lift up a standard, we will unite in a labour hard but 
glorious hke that of Moses and Ezra, a labour which 
shall be a worthy fruit of the long anguish whereby 
our fathers maintained their separateness, refusing 
the ease of falsehood* They have wealth enough to 
redeem the soil from debauched and paupered con- 
querors ; they have the skill of the statesman to 
devise, the tongue of the orator to persuade. And 
is there no prophet or poet among us to make the 
ears of Christian Europe tingle with shame at the 
hideouB obloquy of Christian strife which the Turk 
gazes at as at the fighting of beasts to which he has 
lent an arena ? There is store of wisdom among us 
to found a new Jewish polity, grand, simple, just, 
like the old — ^a republic where there is equality of 
protection, an equality which shone like ' a star on 
the forehead of our ancient community, and gave it 
more than the brightness of Western freedom amid 
the despotisms of the East. Then our race shall 
have an orgahic centre, a heart and brain to watch 
and guide and execute; the outraged Jew shall 



204 DANIEL BERONDA. 

have a defence in the court of nations, as the out- 
raged Englishman or American. And the world 
will gain as Israel gains. For there will be a com- 
munity in the van of the' East which carries the 
culture and the sympathies of every great nation in 
its bosom f there will be a land set lor a halting- 
place of enmities, a neutral ground for the East as 
Belgium is for the West. Difficulties ? I know 
there are difBculties. But let the spirit of sublime 
achievement move in the great among our people, 
aind the work will begin." 

^' Ay, we nkay safely admit that, Mordecai^" said 
Pash. " When there are great men on 'Cnange, and 
high-flying professors converted to your doctrine, 
difficulties will vapish like smoke." 

Deronda, inclined by nature 'to take the side of 
thoee on whom the arrows of scorn were falling, 
could not help replying to Fash's outfling, and 
said — 

** If we look back to the history of efforts which 
have made great changes, it is astonishing how 
many of them seemed hopeless to those who looked' 
on in the beginning. Take what we have all heard 
aaad seen something of— the efibrt after the unity of 
Italy, which yve are sure ^oon to see accomplished 
to the v:ery last boundary. Look into MasJzini's 
account of his first yearning, when he was a boy, 
after a restored greatness and a new freedom to 
Italy, and. of his first efforts as a young man to rouso 
the same feelings in other y6ung men, and get them 
to work towards" a united nationality. Almost every- 
thing seemed against himi hia countrymen were 



BOOK VI. HEVBLATIONS. 205 

ignorant or indifferent, governments hostile, Europe 
inQreduious. Of course the scomers often seetfied 
wise. Yet you see the prophecy lay with him. As 
long as there is a remnant of national consciousness, 
I 'suppeee nobody will deny that there may be a new 
stirring of memories and. hopes which may inspire 
arduous action*" 

" Amen," said Mordecdi, to whom Deronda^s wcwrds 
were a cordiaL "What is needed is the leaven — 
what is needed is the sefed of fire. The heritage of 
Lirael is beating in the pukes of millions ; it lives 
in ih&ii veins as a power without undetstanditig, 
like the morning exultation > of herds ; it is the 
inborn half of memory, moving as in a dream among 
writings on the walls, which it sees- dimly bull 
cannot divide into speech. Let the torch of visible 
comniunity be lit 1 Let the Ifeason of IsTafel disclose 
itself in a great outward deed, and let* there bie 
another great migration, another choosing of Israel 
to be a nationality whose members may still stretch 
to the ends of the earth, even as the sons of Engknd 
and Germany, whom enterprise carries afar, but who 
gftill have a national hearth and a tribimal of national 
opinion. Will any say ^ It ciinnot be'? Bartich 
Spinoza had n6t a faithful Jewish heart, though he 
had sucked the life of his intellect at the breasts of 
Jewish tradition. • lie laid bare his father's naked- 
ness and said, *They ^ho scorn him have the highei* 
wisdom.' Yet Baruch Spinoza confessed, he saw 
not why Israel should not again be a chosen nation. 
Who sayi^ that the hi&tory aiid literature of olir race 
ate dead'?- Are they not as hving as the history 



206 DANIEL DERONDA. 

and literature of Greece and Rome, whicli have in- 
spired revolutions, enkindled the thought of Europe, 
and made the unrighteous powers tremble ? These 
were an inheritance dug firom the tomb. Ours is 
an inheritance that has never ceased to quiver in 
millions of human frames." 

Mordecai had stretched his arms "upward, and his 
long thin hands quivered in the air for a moment 
after he had ceased to speak. Gideon wias certainly 
a little moved, for though there was no long pause 
before he made a remark in objection, his tone was 
more, mild and depreoatpry than before ; Pash, m^ean- 
while, pressing his lips together, rubbing his black 
head with both his hands and wrinkling Ms brow 
horizontally, with the expression of one. who differs 
from every speaker, but does not think it wortk 
while to say so. There is a sort of human paste 
that when it comes near the fire of eatbusiasm i» 
only baked into harder 3hapie. 

" It may seem well enough on one side to make 
so much of our memories and inheritance as you do, 
Mordecai," said Gideon ; " but there^s another side. 
It isn^t all gratitude and harmless glory. Our 
people have inherited a good deal of hatred. There's 
a pretty lot of curses still flying about, and stiff 
settled rancour inherited from the timee of persecu- 
tion. How will you justify keeping one sort of 
memory and throwing away the other ? There are 
ugly debts standing on bolii sides." 

" I justify atie choice as all other choice is justified," 
said Mprdecai. " I cherish nothing for the Jewish 
nation, I seek nothing for them, but the good which 



BOOK VI. REVELATIONS. 207 

promises good to all the nations. The spirit of 
our religious life^ which is one with our national 
life, is not hatred of i^nght but wrong. The Masters 
have said, an offence against man is worse tJ^an an 
offence against God* But what wonder if there is 
hatred in the breasts of Jews, who are children of 
the ignorant and oppressed — what wonder, since 
there is hatred in the breasts of Christians ? Our 
national life was a growing light. Let the central 
fire be kindled again, and the light will reach aian 
The degraded and scorned of onr race will learn to 
think of their sacred land, not as a place for saintly 
^?g^^ ^ await death in loathsome idleness, but 
as a republic where the Jewish spirit manifests 
itself in a new order founded on the old, purified, 
enrichbd by the experience our greatest sons have 
gathered from the life of the ages. How long is 
it ? — only two centnries since a vessel carried over 
the ocean iiie beginning of th^ great North American 
nation. The people grew'like meeting waters — they 
were various in habit and sect— there came a time, 
a century ago, when they needed a polity, and there 
were heroes of peace among theni. What had they 
to form a polity with but memories of Europe, 
corrected by the vision of a better? Let our wise 
and wealthy show themselves heroes. They have 
the memories of the East and West, and they have 
the full vision of a better. A new Persia with a 
purified religion magnified itself in art and wisdom. 
So will a new Judasa, poised between East and West 
— a covenant of reconciliation. Will any say, the 
prophetic vision of your race has been hopelessly 



208 DAJNIBL DERONDA. 

mixed with felly and bigotry; the angel of prdgreso 
has ho meseage for J«daism-^it/ia a half+buried cifcy 
for the' paid workers to. lay opelnr4-the wia^eca ard 
rushing by it as a forsaken field? I 'say'that thei 
strongest principle of growth lies, in human ohoioe^ 
The sons of Judah have" to choose that: God may 
again choose them. The Met8aiani6. time ia thei time 
whfen Israel shall will the |)laiiting bf the nationeil 
ensign. The Nile overflowied and rushed (inward; 
the Egyptian could not choose the^x)Veiflow, but he 
ohose to xi^ork and make channels for;the fructifying 
waters, and Egypt became thfe !land of com.. Shall 
man, whose soul is set in the: royalty of (Uacornment 
and resolvej deny his rank- and say, I hm an ostr 
looker, ask no. choice or pujpofife of^mie? That ia 
the blaspliemy of this time. The divinei pridoiple 
of our race is action, choice, resolved meiAory; Let 
us contradict ' the blasphemy,, aaid' help to will omr 
own better future and the be^titer.ibtureMof the. world 
— not renounce our higher gift and say, * Let* us be 
as if we were not among the populations ; ' but^choose 
aur : filU- heritage, claim the hi^otherhaod of rour nar 
tioiti^ and caiTy into it a new brotherhood- with the 
nations of the Gentiles. : The: vision is ^ere ; it wiU 
be fulfilled.:^ . • •, ■ . , 

With the last, sentence, which was no more thaai 
a loHd whisper,' Mordeoai let hid chin sink on his 
breast and his eyelidfe falL • No one spoke. It was 
not the iirst time that he ' had insisted on the same 
ideas,' but he was seen. to! -night in, a new phase. 
The quiet tenacity of his. ordinary self differed €u» 
much from his present exaltation of mood as a man 



BOOK VI.-t-KEVELATIONS. 209 

in private talk, giving reasons for a revolution of 
which no sign is discernible, differs from one who 
feels himself an agent in a revolution begun. The 
dawn of fulfilment brought to his hope by Deronda's 
presence had wrought Mordecai's conception into a 
state of impassioned conviction, and he had found 
strength in his excitement to pour forth the un- 
locked floods of eria(5iive atgument, with a sense of 
haste as at a crisis which must be seized. But 
now there had come with the quiesderice of fatigue 
a sort of thankful vvonder that he had spoken — a con- 
templation of his life as a journey Ivhich had come 
at last to this bourne. After a great excitement, 
the ebbing strength of impulse is apt to leave us 
in this alob&ess .:from our active self. And in thb 
moments iafteTMordecai had sunk his head, his min4 
was waoidering along^^the pkths of his f&athy and all 
the hopes which hdd ended in bringing himhitheri'' 
. Every oae felt that the talk was ende<a, aad the 
tone of phlegmatic- 'diseuLSsion made uniseai&onable 
by Moiirdeoai's high-pitched solemnity. Tt was as 'if 
they had c6me togiather to hear the blowing of thi9 
skophai*^ and had^nothiikg to do. now but to disperse* 
The moveBOettit was unusually general, and in less 
thdn ten. minutes this room wa® empty of all exicept 
Mordeoa^ and . Derorida. *.'' Good-nights" had been: 
given to Mordecai, but it ^as- evident he lia4«tiat. 
heard thidm, for he remaiaed rapt and mptionles». 
Pierpjnda would not disturb this -IneedM rest, bub 
TY^-ited for a ppant^tnepus .mbvenient* 



210 



CHAi'TER XLIII. 



My Bpidt U too weak ; mortality 
Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, 
And each imagined pinnacle and steep 
Of godlike hardship tella me I must die 
Like a sick eagle looking at the sky." 

-*Kbat8. 



Affbr ,a few minutes the unwonted stillness had 
|)enetrated Mordecafs consciousness, and he looked 
up at Deronda, not in the least with bewilderment 
and surprise, but with a gaze full of reposing satis- 
faction. Deronda rose and placed his chair nearer, 
where there could be no imagined need for raising 
the voice. Mordecai felt the action as a patient feels 
the gentleness that eases his pillow. He began to 
speak in a low tone, as if he were only thinking 
articulately, not trying to reach .an laudience. 

^'In the doctrine of the Cabbala, souls are born 
again and again in new bodies till they are perfected 
and purified, and a soul liberated ^m a worn-out 
body may join th^ fellow -soul that needs it, that 
they may be perfected together, and their earthly 
work accomplished. Then they will depart from 
the mortal region, and leave place for new souls to 
be born out of the store in the eternal bosom. It is 



BOOK VI. — ^REVELATIONS. 211 

the lingering imperfection of the soiile already bom 
into the mortal region that hinders the birth of new 
Bouls and the preparation of the Messianic tinie :— 
thus the mind has given shape to what is hidden, as 
the shadow of what is known, and has spoken truth, 
though it were only in parable. When my long- 
wandering soul is liberated from this, weary bodj*-, it 
will join yours, and its work will be perfected.'* 

Mordecai's. pause seemed an ! appeal which De- 
ronda's feeling would not' let him leave unanswered. 
He tried tbr make it truthful; but for Mordecai's 
ear it was inevitdbly filled with unspoken meanings. 
He only said — ^ 

"Everything I can in conscience do to mak^ 
your life effective I will do." 

" I know it," said Mordecai, in the tone of quiet 
certainty which dispenses with further assuiance. 
" I heard it. You see it all — you are by my side 
on the mount of vision, and behold the paths of 
fulfilment which others deny." 

He was silent a moment or two, and then went 
on meditatively-r- 

" You wiE take up my life where it was broken, 
I feel myself back in that day when my life was 
broken. The bright morning sun was on the quay 
— it was at Trieste — ^the garments of men from all 
nations shone like jewels — the boats were pushing 
off-^the Greek vessel that would land us at Beyrout 
was to start in an hour. I was going with a mer- 
chant as his clerk and companion. I said, I shall 
behold the lands and people of the East, and I 
shall speak with a fuller vision. I breathed then 



212 DANIEL DERONDA. 

t 

!a8 you; do, without labour .; I had the light step and 
the Endurance of youth ; I could fast, I could sleep 
on ttie hard ground I had wedded poV^erty, and I 
loyed my bride*— for poverty to me wai^ freedom. 
My heart ^xulted as if it had been the heart 6f 
Moses ben Maimon, strong with the stbength of 
threesoore yesfcrs, and knowing the work, that was 
to fill- thenu It Was the first tim^.I had been 
sotth : the $oul within me felt its former siin ; and 
standing on the quay, where the ' ground I stood 
on, seemed to send forth light, and the shadows 
had an azure glory as of sj)irits become visible, I 
felt myself in the flood of a glorious life, wherein 
my own small year-counted existence seemed to 
melt, so that I knew it not ) and a great sob arose 
within me as at the rush of waters that were too 
strong a bliss. So I stood there awaiting my com- 
panion ; and I saw him not till; he said: * Ezra, I 
have been to the post and there is yo^r letter/" 

" Ezra ! " exclaimed Ddronda, unable to contain 
himself. , i . ' 

"Ezra," repeated Mordecai, afiirmati'^eily, en- 
grossed in miemory* " I was expecting' a letter ; 
for I Wrote continually to ray mother. And that 
sound of my name was like the tobch of a wand 
that recalled me to the body wherefroSm I had been 
released as it were to mingle with the: ocean of 
human existence, free from the pressure of indi- 
vidual bondage. I opened the letter ; and the name 
came again as a cry that would have diirturbed me 
in* the bosom of heaven, and made me yearn to 
reach where that sorrow W6is. — ^Eisra, my eonl"* 



BOOK VI.-^REVELATIONS. 213 

Mordecai paused again, hid imagination arrested 
by the grasp of that long-past moment. Deronda's 
mind was abnost breathlessly suspended on what 
was coming. A strange possibility had suddenly 
presented ittelf. Mordeoai's eyes were cast down 
in abstracted oontemplation^ and in a few moments 
he went on — 

"She was a mother of whom it might have come 
-^yea, might have come to be said, * Her children 
arise up and call her blessed;* In her I underErtood 
the meaning of that Master who, perceiving the 
footsteps of his mother, rose up and said, 'The 
majesty of the Eternal cotneth near!' And thatt 
letter was her ciy from the depths of anguish and 
desolation— the cry of a mother robbed of her little 
one. I was her eldest. Death had taken four 
babes, one after the o£her. Then came late my 
little sister, who was more than all the rest the 
desire of her mother's eyes ; and the letter \hi^ a 
piercing cry to me — -^ Ezra, my son, I am robbed of 
her. He has taken her away, and left disgrace 
behind. "Hiey will never come again/ " — Here 
Mordecai lifted his eyes suddenly, laid his hand on 
Deronda's arm, and said, "Mine was the lot of 
Israel. For the sin of the father my soul must go 
into exile. For the sin of the father the work was 
broken, and the day of fulfilment delayed. She 
who bore me wad desolate, disgraced, destitute. I 
turned back. On the instant I turned — her spirit, 
and the spirit of her fathers, who had worthy 
Jewish hearts, moved within me, and drew me. 
God, in whom dwells the universe, was within me 



214 . . DANIEL DEEONDA. 

a8 the str>ength of obedience. I tiirned and tra- 
velled with hardship — to saYe the scant money 
which she would ne^d« I left the sunshine, and 
travailed into freezing cold. In the last stage 1 
spent a night in exposure to oold jand snow. And 
that was the beginning of this slow death." 

Mordecai let his eyes wander again and removed 
his hand, Deronda resolutely • repressed the ques- 
tions which urged themselves within him. "While 
Mordecai was in this state of emotion, no other con- 
fidence must be sought than what came spontane- 
ously : nay, he hiijaself felt a kindred emotion which 
made him dread his own speech as too momentous. 

" But I worked. . We were destitute — everything 
had been seized- And she was ill: the clutch of 
ajiguish was too strong for her, aijd wrought with 
some lurking disease. At times she could not 
stand for the beating of her heart, and the images 
in her brain became as chambers of terror, where 
she beheld n^y sister reared in evil. In the dead 
of night I heard her crying for her child. Then I 
rose, and we stretched forth our arms together and 
prayed. We poured fortli our souls in desire that 
Mirah might be delivered from eviL" 

"Mirah?" Deronda repeated, wishing to assure 
himself that his ears had not been deceived by a 
forecasting imagination. "Did you say Mirah?" 

" That was my little sister^s name. After we had 
prayed for her my mother would rest awhile. It 
lasted hardly four years, and in the minutes before 
she died, we were praying the same prayer- — I aloud^ 
she silently. Her soul went out upon its wings." 



BOOK VI.' ^REVKLATIONS. 216 

"Hare you never since heard of your eiatbr?" 
said Deronda, as quietly as he could. 

" Never. Never have • I heard whether she was 
delivered according to our prayer. I know not, I 
know not^ Who shall say where ihe pathways lie ? 
The poisonous will of the wicked is strong. It 
poisoiied my hfe — it is slowly stifling this breath. 
Peath delivered my mother, and I felt it a blessed- 
tieSB that I was alone in the winters of suffering. 
But what are the winters now?-— rthey are far off" — 
here Mordecai again rested his hand an Deronda's 
arm, and looked at him with that joy of the hectic 
patient which pierces us to sadness.-rr- "; there is 
nothing to wail in the withering of my body. The 
work will be the better done. Once I said, the work 
of this beginning is mine, I am bom to do it. 
Well, I shall do it. I shall Uve in you. I ehaH 
live in you." 

His grasp had become convulsive in its force, and 
Deronda, agitated s^ he had never been before — ^the 
certainty that this was Mijah's brother suffusing 
his own strange relation to Mordecai with a new 
solemnity and tenderness, — felt his strong youpg 
heart beating faster and his lips paling. He shrank 
from speech. He feared, in Mordecai's present state 
of exaltation (already an . alarming stiuin on his 
feeble frame) to utter a word . of revelation about 
Mirah. He feared to make an answer below that 
high pitch of expectation which resembled a flash 
from a dying fire, making watchers fear to see it 
dying the faster. His dominant impulse was to do 
as he had once done before : he laid his firm, gentle 



2116 DANIEL DERONDA. 

hand cm the hand that igrasped hini* . Mordeeai'e, as 
if it had a eoixl of its own^ — fot h-e w«s not distinctly 
-willing to do what h© did — ^relaxed its grasp, and 
turned tipward under Deronda's. As the tWo palins 
met and preesed each other, Mordeciai recovered 
some- sense of his surroundings, and 'said*— 
■ " Let us: go now. I tfannot talk any lo«iger." 

And in faict- they parted at Cohen^s' door without 
having spoken to each other again — Bhereljr with 
another preETsure of the hands. 

Derdrida felt a weight on him which was half 
joy, hatf anxiety. The joy of finding in' Mirah's 
brother a nature even mOre than worthy of that 
relation to her, had the weight of soleilinity and sad- 
ness : the reunion ' of brother and sister was ill 
reality the first sttige of a supreme partiiig-^like 
that farewell kiss which redembles greeting, that 
last glance of love which becomes the sharpest 
pang of sorrow. Then there was the weight of 
arikiety about the revelation of the fact on both 
fiidefe,' and the toangements it would be desirable 
to' make' beforehand. I suppose we should all have 
felt as Deronda did, without sinking into snobbish* 
ness or the notion that the primal duties of life 
demand ' « morning and an evening suit, that it 
was an admissible desire to free Mirah's firfe't meet- 
ing with her brother froln all jarring outward con- 
ditions.' His own sense of deliverance from the 
dreaded relationship of the other Cohens, notwith- 
standing their good nature, made him resolve if 
possible to keep them in the background for Mirah, 
until her acquaintance with them would be an un- 



BOOK VI. — 'REVELATIONS. 217 

man-ed rendering of gratitude for any kindness they 
had shown towards her brother. On all accounts 
he wished to give Mordecai surroundings not only 
more suited to his frail bodily condition, but less of 
a hindrance to easy intercourse, even apart from 
the decisive prospect of Mirah's taking up her abode 
with her brother, and tending him through the 
precious remnant of his life. In the heroic drama, 
great recognitions are not encumbered with these 
details ; and certainly Deronda had as reverential ' 
an interest in Mordecai and Mirah as he could have 
had in the offspring of Agamemnon ; but he was 
caring for destinies still moving in the dim streetd 
of our earthly life, not yet lifted among the constel- 
lations, and his task presented itself to him as diffi- 
cult and delicate, especially in persuading Morde- 
cai to change his abode and habits. Concerning 
Mirah's feeling and resolve he had no doubt : there 
would be a complete union of sentiment towards 
the departed mother, and Mirah would understand 
her brothier's greatness. Yes, greatness : that was 
the word which Deronda now deliberately chose 
to signify the impression that Mordecai made ott 
him. He said to himself, perhaps rather defiantly 
towards the more negative spirit within hiihy that 
this man, however erratic some of ^ his interpreta- 
tions might be — this consumptive Jewish workmaJl 
in threadbare clothing, lodged by charity, deliver* 
ing himself to hearers who took his thoughts with* 
out attaching more consequences to them ihaai the 
Flemings to the ethereal ©himes ringing above their 
market-places — ^had the chief elements of greatness : 
VOL. II. H 



218 DANIEL DERONDA. 

a mind consciously, energetically m6ving with the 
larger march pf human destiniesj but not the less 
full of conscience and tender heart for the footsteps 
that tread near and need a leaning-place ; capable 
of conceiving and choosing a life's task with far-off 
issues, yet capable of the unapplauded heroism 
which turns off the road of achievement at the call 
of the nearer duty whose effect lies within the 
beatings of the hearts that are close to us, as the 
hunger of the unfledged bird to the; breast of its 
parent. 

Deronda to-night was stirred with the feeling that 
the brief remnant of this fervid life had become his 
charge. He had been peculiarly wrought on by 
what he had seen at the club of the fiiendly indif- 
ference which Mordecai must have gone, on en- 
countering. His own experience of the small room 
tliat ardour can make for itself in ordinary minds 
had liad the effect of increasing his reserve ; and 
while tolerance was the easiest attitude to him, 
there was another bent in him also capable of be- 
coming a weakness — the dislike to appear excep- 
tional or to risk an ineffective inisistance on his 
own opinioii. But such caution appeared con- 
temptible to him just now, when he for the first 
time saw in a complete picture and felt, as a reality 
the lives that bum themselves out in solitary en- 
thusiasm: inartyrs of obscure circumstance, exiled 
in the rarity of their own minds, whose deliverances 
in other ears are no more than a long passionate 
soliloquy — unless perhaps at last, when they are 
nearing the invisible shores, signs of recognition 



BOOK VL REVELATIONS. 219 

and falfilment may penetrate the cloud of loneli- 
ness ; or perhaps it may be with them as with the 
dying Copernicus made to touch the first printed 
copy of his book when the sense of touch was gone, 
seeing it only as a dim object through the deepen- 
ing dusk. 

Deronda had been bronght near to one of those 
spiritual exiles, and it was in his nature to feel 
the relation as a strong claim, nay, to feel his im- 
agination moving without repugnance in the direc- 
tion of Mordecai's desires. With all his latent 
objection to schemes only definite in their gener- 
ality and nebulous in detail— in the poise of his 
sentiments he felt^ at one with this man who had 
made a visionary selection of him : the lines of 
what may be called their emotional theory touched. 
He had not the Jewish conscionsness, but he had 
a yearning, grown the stronger for the denial which 
had been his grievance, ailer the obligation of 
avowed filial and social ties. His feeling was ready 
for difficult obedience. In this way it came that 
he set about his new task ungrudgingly ; and again 
he thought of Mrs Meyrick as his chief helper. 
To her first he must make known the discovery 
of Mirah's brother, and with her he must consult 
on all preliminaries of bringing the mutually lost 
together. Happily the best quarter for a consump- 
tive patient did not lie too feir off the small house 
at Chelsea, and the first office Deronda had to per- 
form for this Hebrew prophet who claimed him as 
a spiritual inheritor, was to get him a healthy lodg- 
ing. Such is the irony of earthly mixtures, that 



220 DANIEL DERONDA. 

the heroes have not always had carpets and tea- 
cups of their own; and, seen through the open 
window by the mackerel -vendor, may have been 
invited with some hopefulness to pay three hundred 
per cent in the form of fourpence. However, Der- 
onda's mind was busy with a prospective arrange- 
ment for giving a furnished lodging some faint 
likeness to a refined home by dismantling his ovm 
chambers of his best old books in vellum, his easiest 
chair, and the bas-reliefs of Milton and Dante. 

But was not Mirah to be there ? What furniture 
can give such finish to a room as a tender woman's 
face ? — and is there any harmony of tints that has 
such stirrings of delight as the^weet modulations 
of her voice ? Here is one good, at least, thought 
Beronda, that comes to Mordecai from his having 
fixed his imagination on me. He has recovered a 
perfect sister, whose affection is waiting for him. 



321 



CHAPTER XLIV. 



Fairy folk a-listening 

Hear the seed sprout in the spring, 

And for music to their dance 

Hear the hedgerows wake fix)m trance, 

Sap that treniU» into buds 

Sending little rhythmic floods 

Of fairy sound in fairy ears. 

Thus all beauty that appears 

Has birth as sound to finer sense 

And lighter-clad intelligence. 



And Gwendolen? — She was thinking of Deronda 
mach more tiian he was thinking of her — often 
wondering what were his ideas ** about things," and 
how his life was occupied. But a lap-dog would be 
necessarily at a loss in framing to itself the motives 
and adventures of doghood at large ; and it was as 
far from Gwendolen's conception that De^ronda's life 
could be determined by the historical destiny of the 
Jews, as that he could rise into the air on a brazen 
horse, and so vanish from her horizon in the form of 
a twinkling star. 

With all the sense of inferiority that had been 
forced upon her, it was inevitable that she should 
imagine a larger place for heraelf in his thoughts 
than she actually possessed. They must be rathet* 



222 DANIEL DERONDA. 

old and wise persons who are not apt to see their 
own anxiety or elation about themselves reflected 
in other minds ; and Gwendolen, with her yonth and 
inward solitude, may be excused for dwelling on 
signs of special interest in her shown by the one 
person who had impressed her with the feeling of 
submission, and for mistaking the colour and pro- 
portion of those signs in the mind of Deronda. 

Meanwhile, what would he tell her that she ought 
to do? "He said, I must get more interest in 
others, and more knowledge, and that I must care 
about the best things — but how am I to begin?" 
She wondered what books he would tell her to take 
up to her own room, and recalled the famous writers 
that she had either not looked into or had found the 
most unreadable, with a half-smiling wish that she 
could mischievously ask Deronda if th«y were not 
the books called "medioiae for the mind.'* Then 
she repented of her sauciness, and when she was 
safe from observation carried up a miscellaneous 
selection — Descartes, Bacon, Locke, Butler, Burke, 
Guizot — knowing, as a clever young lady of eduoa^ 
tJo|i, that these auth/ora were ornaments of mankind, 
feeling sure that Deronda had read them, and hoping 
that by dipping into theim all in succession, with her 
rapid understanding she might get a point of view 
nearer to his leveL 

But It was astonishing how little time she found 
for these vast mental excursions. Constantly she 
had to be on the scene as Mrs Grandcourt, and to 
feel herself watched in that part b}' the exacting' 



BOOK VI. 1E7ELATI0NS. 223 

eyes of a husband who had found a motive to ex- 
ercise his tenacity — that of making his marriage 
answer all the ends he chose, and with the more 
completeness the more he disoemed any opposing 
will in her. And she herself, whatever rebellion 
might be going on within her, could not have made 
up her mind to failure in her representation. No 
feeling had yet reeonoiled her for a moment to any 
act, word, or look that would be a confession to the 
world ; and what she most dreaded in herself was 
any violent impulse that would make an involuntary 
confession ; it was the Will to be silent, in every 
other direction that had thrown the more impetuosity 
into her confidencfes towards Deronda, to whom, her 
thought continually turned as a help againsifc herself* 
Her riding, her hunting, her visiting and receiving 
of visits, were all perfotmed in a spirit of achievd- 
meat "which served instead of zest and young glad* 
ness, so that all round Diplow, in those weeks of the 
New Year, Mrs Grandcourt was regarded as wearing 
her honours with triumph. 

" She disguises it under an air of takihg every- 
thing as a matter of course," said Mrs Arrowpoint* 
" A stranger might suppose that she had condescend- 
ed, rather than risen. I always noticed that doubl^- 
ness in her." 

To her mother most of all Qwendoleta was bent on 
actiiig complete satisfaction, and poor M*s Davilow 
was so fer deceived that she took the unexpected 
distance at which she was kept, in spite of what she 
felt to be Grandcourt' s handsome beiiaviout- in pro- 



t24 DANIEL DERONDA. 

viding for her, as a comparative indifference in her 
daughter, now that marriage had created new in- 
-terests. To be fetched to lunch and then- to dinner 
along with the Gaeooignes, to be driven back Boon laft^r 
breakfast the next mbming, and to have brief calls 
from Gwendolen in which her husband waited for 
her outside either on horseback or sitting in the car- 
riage, was all the intercourse allowed to the mother. 

The truth was, that the second tJEiie- Gwendolen 
proposed to invite her mother with Mr and Mrs 
Qasooigne, Grandcourt had at first been silent, and 
then drawled, " We can't be having those people al- 
ways. Gascoigne talks too much. Country clergy 
ard always bores — with their confounded fuss about 
everything." 

That speech was full of foreboding for Gwendolen. 
To have her mother classed under " those people " 
^as enough to confirm the previous dread of bringj 
ing her too near. Still, she could not give the true 
reasons — she could not say to her mother, **Mr 
Grandcourt wants to recognise you as littlfe as pos- 
sible ; andi besides it is better you should not see 
much of my married life, else you might find out 
that I am miserable.'' So she waived as lightly as 
she could every allusion to the subject; and when 
Mrs Davilow again hinted the possibility of her hav- 
ing a house close to Ryelahds, Gwendolen said, " It 
would txot- be so nipe for you as being nep,r the Rec- 
tory here^i mamma. We shall perhaps be very little 
at tEyelands. You woxdd miss my auiit and unole." 

iAnd all «the while this contemptuous veto of her 



BOOK VI. ItEVELATIONS. 225 

husband's on any intiiziacy with her family) making 
her proudly shrink from giving them the aspect of 
troublesome pensioners, was rousing more inward 
inclination towards them. She had never felt so 
kindly towards her uncle, so mubh disposed td look 
back on his cheerful, complacent activity and spirit 
of kind management, even when mistaken, as more 
of a comfort than the neutral loftiness which was 
every day chilling her. And here perhaps, she was 
unconsciously finding some of that mental enlarge- 
ment which it was hard to get from her. occasional 
dashes into difficult authors, who instead of blending 
themselves with her daily agitations required her to 
dismiss them. 

It was a delightful surprise one day. when Mr and 
Mrs Gaacoigne were at Offendene to see Gv?endolen 
ride up without hetr husband — with the groom only. 
All, including the four girls and Miss Merry, seated 
in the dining-room at lunch, could see the welcome 
approach; and even the elder ones were not with- 
out something of Isabers rcanantic sense that the 
beautiful sistet on the splendid ohesnut, which 
held its head as if proud to bear her, was a sort of 
Harriet Byron or Miss Wardour reappearing, out of 
her "happiness ever after." 

Her uncle went to the door to give her his hand, 
and she sprang from her horse with an air of alacrity 
whidi might well encourage that notion of guaran- 
teed happiness ; for Gwendolen was particularly bent 
to^ay on setting her mother's heart at reet, and her 
unusual sense of freedom in being able to make this 



226 DANIEL DEKONDA. 

visit alone enabled her to bear up, under the pres- 
sure of painful facts which were urging themeelves 
anew. The seven femily kisses were not so tire- 
some as they used to be. 

" Mr Grandcourt is gone out, so I determined to 
fill up the time by coming to you, mamma," said 
Gwendolen, as she laid down her hat ai>d seated 
herself next to her mother ; and then looking at her 
with a playfully monitory air, " That is a punish- 
ment to you for not wearing better lace on your 
head. You didn't think I should come and detect 
you — you dreadfully careless -about-yourself mam- 
ona ! " She gave a caressing touch to the dear 
head. 

"Soold me, dear," said Mrs Davilow, her delicate 
worn face flushing with delight. " But I wish there 
was something you could eat after your ride — in- 
stead of these scraps. Ijet Jocosa make you a cup 
of chocolate in your old way. You used to like 
-that." 

Miss Merry immediately rose and went out, though 
Gwendolen said, " Oh no, a piece of bread, or one of 
those hard biscuits. I can^t think about eating. I 
am come to say good-bye." 

" Wliat ! going to Ey elands again ? " said Mr 
Gascoigne. 

"N'o, we are going to town," said Gwendolen, 
beginning to break up a piece of bread, but putting 
no morsel into her mouth. 

"It is rather early to go to town," said Mrs 
Gascoigne, " and Mr Grandcourt not in Parliament." 

" Oh, there is only one more day's hunting to be 



BOOK .VI. -^REVELATIONS. 227 

had, and Henleigh has sonje business m town with 
lawyers, I think," said Gwendolen. " I am very 
glad. I ehall like to go to town." 

" You will see your house ip Grosvenor Square," 
said Mrs Davilow. She and the girls were devour- 
ing with their eyes every movement of their god- 
dess, soon to vanish. 

"Yes," said Gwendolen, in a tone of assent to 
the interest of that expectation. " And there is so 
much to be seen and done in town." 

" I wish, my dear Gwendolen," said Mr Gascoigne, 
in a tone of cordial advice, "that you would use 
your influence with Mr Grandcoutt to induce him 
to enter Parliament. A man of his position should 
make his weight felt in politics. The best judges 
are confident that the ministry will have to appeal 
to the country on this question of further Reform ^ 
and Mr Grandcourt should be ready for the opporL 
tunity. I am not quite sure that his opinions and 
mine accord entirely; I have not heard him express 
himself very fally. But I don't look at the matter 
from that point of view. I am thinking of your 
husband's standing in the country. And he has 
now come to that stage of life when a man like him 
sliould enter into public affairs. A wife has great 
influence with her husband. Use yours in that 
direction, my dear." 

The Eector felt that he was acquitting himself 
of a duty here, and giving something like the aspect 
of a public benefit to his niece's match. To Gwen- 
dolen the whole speech had the flavour of bitter* 
comedy. If she had been merry, she must have 



228 DANIEL DERONDA. 

laughed at her uncle^s explanation to her that he 
had not heard Grandcourt express himself very folly 
on politics. And the wife's great influence ! General 
maxims about husbands and wives seemed now of a 
precarious usefolness: Gwendolen herself had once 
believed in her future influence as an omnipotence 
in managing — she did not know exactly what. But 
her chief concern at present was to give an answer 
that would be felt appropriate. 

" I should be very glad, uncle. But I think Mr 
Grandcourt would not like the trouble of an elec- 
tion— at least, unless it could be without his mak- 
ing speeches. I thought candidates always made 



" Not necesBarily^to any great extent," said Mr 
Gascoigne. "A man of position and weight can 
get on without much of it. A county member need 
have very little trouble in that way, and both out of 
the House and in it is liked the better for not 
being a speeohifier. , Tell Mr Grandcourt that I 
say so." 

" Here oomes Jooosa with my chocolate aft^r all," 
said Gwendolen, escaping from a promise to give 
information that would certainly have been received 
in a way inconceivable to the good Rector, who, 
pushing his chair a little aside from the table and 
crossing his leg, looked as well as felt like a worthy 
specimen of a clergyman and magistrate giving ex- 
perienced adtice. Mr Guscoigne had come to the 
conclusion that Grandcourt was a proud man, but 
his own self-love, calmed through life by the con- 
flcioiisnesB of his general value and personal advan- 



BOOK VI. Rl^VELATIONS. 229 

tagee, was not irritable enough to prevent him from 
hoping the best about his niece^s husband because 
her uncle was kept rather haughtily at a distance. 
A certain aloofness must be allowed to the repre- 
sentative of an old family ; you would not expect 
him to be on intimate terms even with abstractions. 
But Mrs Qascoigne was less dispassionate on her 
husband's account, and felt Grandcourt's haughtiness 
as something a little blameable in Gwendolen. 

" Your uncle and Anna will veiy likely be in 
town about Easter," she said, with a vague sense 
of expressing a slight discontent. " Dear Kex 
hopes to come out with honours and a fellowship, 
and he wants his father and Anna to meet him in 
Tjondon, that they may be jolly together, as he says. 
I shouldn't wonder if Lord Brackenshaw invited: 
them, he has been so very kind since he came back 
to the Castle." 

" I hope my uncle will bring Anna to stay in 
Grosvenor Square," said Gwendolen, risking herself 
BO far, for the sake of the present moment, but in 
reality wishing that she might never be obliged to 
laring any of her family near Grandcourt again. '^ I 
am very glad of Rex's good fortune." 

" We must not be premature, and rejoice .too 
much beforehand," said the Rector, to whom tliiSi 
topic was the happiest in the world, and altogether 
allowable, now that the issue of that little affair: 
about Gwendolen had been so satisfactory. "Not 
but that I am in correspondence with impartial 
judges, who have the highest hopes about my son, 
as a singularly clear-headed young man. And of I 



230 DANIEL DERONDA. 

his excellent disposition and principle I hare had 
the best evidence. "^ 

" We shall have him a great lawyer some time/' 
said Mrs Gascoigne. 

** How very nice ! " said Gwendolen, with a con- 
cealed scepticism as to niceness in general, which 
made the word quite applicable to lawyers. 

** Talking of Lord Brackenshaw's kindness," said 
Mrs Davilow, **you don't know how delightful he 
has been, Gwendolen. He has begged me to con- 
sider myself his guest in this house till I can get 
another that I like — he did it in the most grace- 
ful way. But now a house has turned up. Old 
Mr Jodson is dead, and we can have his house. 
It is just what I want ; small, but with nothing' 
hideous to make you miserable thinking about it. 
And it is only a mile from the Rectory. You 
remember the low white house nearly hidden by 
the trees, as we turn up the lane to the church?" 

" Yes, but you have no furniture, poor mamma," 
said Gwendolen, in a melancholy tone. 

" Oh, I am saving money for that. You know 
who has made me rather rich, dear," said Mrs 
Davilow, laying her hand on Gwendolen's. " And 
Jocosa really makes so little do for housekeeping — 
it is quite wonderful." 

"Oh, please let me go up -stairs with you and 
arrange my hat, mamma," said Gwendolen, suddenly 
putting up her hand to her hair and perhaps creating 
a desired disarrangement. Her heart was swelling, 
and she was ready to cry. Her mother must have 
been worse off, if it had not been for Grandcourt. 



BOOK VI. BEVBLATIONS. 231 

'' I suppose I shall never see all this again/' said 
Gwendolen, looking round her, as they entered the 
black and yellow bedroom, and then throwing her- 
self into a chair in front of the glass with a little 
groan as of bodily fatigue. In the resolve not to 
cry she had become very pale. 

" You are not well, dear ? " said Mrs Davilow. 

^*No; that chocolate has made me sick," said 
Gwendolen, putting up her hand to be taken. 

" I should be allowed to come to you if you were 
ill, darling," said Mrs Davilow, rather timidly, as 
she pressed the hand to her bosom. Somelhing had 
made her sure to-day that her child loved her — 
needed her as much as ever. 

" Oh yes," said Gwendolen, leaning her head 
against her mother, though speaking as lightly as 
she could. " But you know I never am ill. I am 
as strong as possible ; and you must npt take to 
fretting about me, but make yourself as happy iais 
y<Ju can with the girls. They are better children 
to you than I have been, you know." She turned 
up her face with a smile. 

^^ You have always been good, my dsarling. I 
remember nothing else." 

" Why, what did I ever do that was good to you, 
except marry Mr Giandcourt?" said Gwendolen, 
starting up with a desperate resolve to be^ playful, 
and keep no more on the perilous edge of agitation. 
"And I should not have done that unless it had 
pleased myself." She tossed up her cliin, and 
reached her hat. 

" God forbid, child I I would not have had you 



232 DANIEL DERONDA. 

many for my sake. Yonr happiness by itself is 
half mine." 

"Very well," said Gwendolen, arranging her hd* 
fastidiously, "then you will please to consider that 
you are half happy, which is more than I ani used 
to seeing you." With the last words she again 
turned with her old playful smile to her mother. 
" Now I am ready; but oh, mamma, Mr Grandcourt 
gives me a quantity of money, and expects me to 
spend it, and I can't spend it ; and you know I lDan*t 
bear charity children and all that; and here are 
thirty pounds. I wish the girls would, spend it for 
me on little things for themselves when you' go to 
the new house. TelL them so." Gwendolen put 
the notes into her mother's hand and looked away 
hastily, moving towards. the -door. 

" God bless you, dear," said Mrs Davilow* " It 
will please them so that you should have thought 
of them An particular." 

" Oh, they are troublesome things ; but they don't 
trouble the now," said Gwendolen, turning and 
nodding playfully. She hardly understood her own 
feeling in this act towards her sisters, but at any 
rate she did not wish it to be taken as anything 
serious. She was glad to have got out of the bed- 
room without showing more Bigns of emotion, and 
she went through the rest of her visit and all the 
good-byes with a quiet propriety, that made her say 
to herself sarcastically as she rode away, " I think I 
am making a very good Mrs Grandcourt." 

She believed that her husband was gone to Gads- 
mere tliat day — had inferred this, as she. had long 



BOOK Vi. REVELATIONS. 233 

ago inferred who were the inmates of what he had 
deBcribed as "a dog -hutch of a place in a black 
country," and the strange conflict of feeling within 
heac had had the characteristic effect of sending her 
to Offendene with a tightened resolve — a form of 
excitement which was native to her. 

She wondered at her own conta-adictions. Why 
should she feel it bitter to her that Grandcourt 
showed concern for the beings on whose acooun't 
she herself was undergoing remorse ? Had she not 
before her marriage inwardly determined to speak 
and act on their belialf ? — and since he had lately 
implied that he wanted to be in town because he 
was making arrangements about his will, she ought 
to have been glad of any sign that he kept a con- 
science awake towards those at Gadsmera ; and yet, 
now that she was a wife, the sense that Grandcourt 
was gone to. Gadsmere was like red heat near a 
bum. She had brought on herself this indignity in 
her own eyes — this humiliation of being doomed to 
a teiTified silence lest her husband should discover 
with what sort of consciousness she had married 
him ; and as she had said to Deronda, she " must go 
on." After the intensest moments of secret hatred 
towards this husband who from the very first had 
cowed her, there always came back the spiritual 
pressure which made submission inevitable. There 
was no effoirt at freedom that would not bring fresh 
and worse humiliation. Gwendolen could dare 
nothing except in impulsive action — least of all 
could she dare premeditatedly a vague future in 
which the only certain condition was indignity. In 



234 DANIEL DERONDA. 

spite of remorse, it still seemed the worst result of 
her marriage that she should in any way make a 
spectacle of herself; and her humiliation was light- 
ened by her thinking that only Mrs Glasher was 
■aware of the fact which caused it. For Gwendolen 
had never referred the interview at the Whispering 
Stones to Lush's agency ; her disposition to vague 
terror investing with shadowy omnipresence any 
threat of feital power over her, and so hindering her 
from imagining plans and channels by which news 
had been conveyed to the woman who had the poi- 
soning skill of a sorceress. To Gwendolen's mind 
the secret lay with Mrs Glasher, and there were 
words in the horrible letter which implied that Mrs 
Glasher would dread disclosure to the husband, as 
much as the usurping Mrs Grandcourt. 

Something else, too, she thought of as more of a 
secret from her husband thaji it really was — name- 
ly, that suppressed struggle of despemte rebellion 
which she herself dreaded. Grandcourt could not 
indeed fully imagine how things affected Gwen- 
dolen : he had no imagination of anything in her 
but what affected the gratification of his own will ; 
but on this point he had the sensibility which seems 
like divination. What we see exclusively we are 
apt to see with some mistake of proportions ; and 
Grandcourt was not likely to be infallible in his 
judgments concerning this wife who was governed 
by many shadowy powers, to him nonexistent. He 
magnified her inward resistance, but that did not 
lessen his satisfaction in the mastery of it. 



235 



CHAPTEE XLV. 



Behold my lady's carriage stop the way, 
With powdered lacquey and with champiiig bay : 
She sweeps the mattiDg, treads the crimsou staiar. 
Her arduons function solely " to be there." 
like Sirias rising o'er the silent sea. 
She hides her heart in lustre loftily. 



So the Grandcourts were in Grosvenor Square in 
time to receive a card for the musical party at Lady 
Mallinger's, there being reasons of business which 
made Sir Hugo know beforehand that his ill-beloved 
nephew was coming up. It was only the third 
evening after their arrival, and Gwendolen made 
Ktther an absent-minded acquaintance with her new 
ceilings and furniture, preoccupied with the certainty 
that she was going to speak to Deronda again, and 
also to see the Miss Lapidoth who had gone through 
so much, and was " capable of submitting to any- 
thing in the form of duty." For Gwendolen had 
remembered nearly every word that Deronda had 
said about Mirah, and especially that phrase, which 
she repeated to herself bitterly, having an ill-defined 
consciousness that her own submission was some- 
thing very different. She would have been obliged 



236 DANIEL DERONDA. 

to allow, if any one had said it to her, that what 
she submitted to could not take the shape of duty, 
but was submission to a yoke drawn on her by an ac- 
tion she was ashamed of, and worn with a strength 
of selfish motives that left no weight for duty to 
caiTy. 

The drawing-rooms in Park Lane, all white, gold, 
and pale crimson, were agreeably furnished, and not 
Crowded with guests, before Mr and Mrs Grandcourt 
entered ; and more than half an hour of instrumen- 
tal music was being followed by an interval of move- 
ment and chat. Klesmer was there with his wife, 
and in his generous interest for Mirah he proposed 
to accompany her singing of Leo^s " patria miaj* 
which he had before recommended her to choose, 
as more distinctive of h^r than better known music. 
He was already at the piano, and Mirah was stand- 
ing there conspicuously, when Gwendolen, magnifi- 
cent in her pale green velvet and poisoned diamonds, 
was ushered to a seat of honour well in view of 
them. With her long sight and self-command she 
had the rare power of quickly distinguishing persons* 
and objects on entering a full room, and while turn- 
ing her glance towards Mirah she did not neglect 
to excihange a bow and smile with Klesmer as she 
passed. The smile seemed to each a lightning- 
flash b6,ck on that morning when it had been her 
ambition to stand as the " little Jewess " was stand- 
ing, and survey a grand audience from the higher 
rank of her talent — instead of which she was one of 
the ordinary crowd in silk and gems, whose utmost 
performance it must be to admire or find fault. " He 



BOOK VI. REVELATIONS. 237 

thinks I am in the right road now," said the lurking 
resentment within her. 

Gwendolen had not caught sight of Deronda in 
her passage, and while she was seated acquitting 
herself iii chat with Sir Hugo, she glanced round 
her with careful ease, bowing a recognition here 
and there," and fearful lest an anxious-looking ex- 
ploration in search of Deronda might be observed 
by her husband, and afterwards rebuked as some- 
thing " damnably vulgar." But all travelling, even 
that of a slow gradual glance round a room, brings 
a liability to undesired encounters, and amongst the 
eyes that met Gwendolen's, forcing her into a slight 
bow, were those of the " amateur too fond of Meyer- 
beer," Mr Lush, whom Sir Hugo continued to find 
useful as a half-caste among gentlemen. He was 
standing' near her husband, who, however, turned 
a shoulder towards him, and was being understood 
to listen to Lord Pentreath. How Was it that at 
this moment, for the first time, there darted through 
Gwendolen, like a disagreeable sensation, the idea 
that this man knew all about her husband's life?" 
He had been banished from her sight, according 
to her will, and she had be>^n satisfied ; he had 
sunk entirely into the background of her thoughts j 
screened, away from her by the agitating figures that 
kept up an inward drama in which Lush had no 
place. Here suddenly he reappeared at her hiis-' 
band's elbow, and there sprang up in her, like an 
instantaneously fd,bricated memory in a dream, the 
sense of his being connected with the secrets that 
made her wretched. She was conscious of effort in 



•238 PANIEL DERONDA. 

turniiig her head away from hinci, trying to continue 
her wandering survey as if she had seen nothing of 
more consequence than the pi^sture on the wall, till 
she discovered Deronda. But he was not looking 
towards her, and she withdrew her eyei^ from hina, 
without having got any recognition, consoling her- 
self with the assurance that he must have seen hetr 
come in. In fact, he was standii^g not far from the 
door with Hans Meyrick, whom he had been oarefiil 
to bring into Lady Mallinger's list. They were both 
a little more anxious than was comfortable lest Mirah 
should not be heard to advantage. Deronda even felt 
himself on the brink of betraying emotion, Mirah's 
presence now being linked with crowding images of 
what had gone before and was to come after — all 
centring in the, brother whom he was soon to reveal 
to her ; and he had escaped as soon as he could 
from the side of Lady Pentreath, who had said in 
her violoncello voice — 

" Well, your Jewess is pretty — there's no denying 
that. But where, is her Jewish impucjence ? . She 
looks as demure as a nun. I suppose she learned 
that on the stage." 

He was beginning to feel on Mirah's behalf some- 
thing of what he had felt for himself in his seraphic 
boyish time, when Sir Hugo asked him if he would 
like to be a great singer — an indignant dislike to 
her beiiig remarked on in a free and easy way, as if 
she were an imported commodity disdainfolly paid 
for by the fashionable public ; and he winced the 
more because Mordecai, he knew, would feel that 
the name " Jewess " was taken as a sort of stamp 



BOOK YI. KEVELATIONS. 239 

like the lottering of Chinese fiilk. In this Biis<)ep- 
tible mood he saw the Grandoonrtt^ enter^ and was im- 
mediately appealed to by Hans about *^ that Vandyke 
duchess of a beauty." Pray excuse Deronda that in 
this moment he felt a transient renewal of his first 
repulsion from Gwendolen, as if she and her beauty 
and her fellings were to blame for the imder valuing 
of Mirah as a woman— a feeling something like class 
animosity, which afiection for wliat is not fully re- 
cognised by others, whether in persons or in poetry, 
rarely allows us to escape. To Hans admiring Gwen- 
dolen with his habitual hyperbole, he answered^ with 
a sarcasm that was not quite good-humoured^ — 

" I thought you could admire no style of woman 
but your Berenice." 

" That is the style I worship — not admire/' said 
Hans. " Other styles of woman I might make my- 
self wicked for, but for Berenice I could m^ke my- 
self — well, pretty good, which is something miioh 
more diflSoult." 

"Hush I" said Deronda, • under the pretext that 
the singing was going to begin. He was not so 
delighted with the answer as might have been 
expected, and was relieved by Hans's movement 
to a more advanced spot. 

Deronda had never before heard Mirah sing " 
patria m*a." He knew well Leopardi's fine . Odie 
to Italy (when Italy sat like a disconsolate mother 
in chains, hiding her face on her knees and weep* 
ing), and the few. selected words were filled for him 
with the grandeur of the whole, w4iich seemed to 
breathe as iospiration through the music. Mirah 



240 

ringing this, made Mordecai . more than ever one 
presence with her. Certain words not included in 
the song nevertheless rang within Deronda as har- 
monies from one invisible— 

** N(yn ti difende 
NeasTin d^ tuoi % L'armVy qua Vanni : to solo 
Combatt&rd, procorriberd sol io " *— 

they seemed the very voice of that heroic passion 
which is fialsely said to devote itself in vain when 
it achieves the godlike end of manifesting unselfish 
love. And that passion was present to Deronda now 
as the vivid image of a man dying helplessly away 
from the possibility of battle. 

Mii-ah was equal to his wishes. While the general 
applause was sounding, Klesmer gave a more valued 
testimony, audible to her only---" Good, good — the 
crescendo better than before." But her chief anxiety 
was to know that she had satisfied Mr Deronda: any 
failure on her part this evening would have pained 
her as an especial injury to him. Of course all her 
prospects were due to what he haid done for her; still 
this occasion of singing in the house that was his 
home brought a peculiar demand. She looked to- 
wards him in the distance, amd he could see that she 
did ; but he remained where he was, and watched 
the stream of emulous admirers closing round her, 
till presently they parted to make way for Gwen- 
dolenj who wa« taken up to be introduced by Mrs 
Klesmer. Easier now about " the little Jewess,*' 
Daniel relented towards poor Gwendolen in her 

* Do none of thy children defend thee? Arms'! bring me arms ! 
ftione I will fight, alone I will fall* 



BOOK Vr.-^— REVELATIONS. 241 

aplendonr, and his memory went back, with som^ 
penitence for his momentary hardness, over all the 
signs and confessions that she too needed a rescue, 
and one much more difficult than that of the wan- 
derer by the river— a rescue for which he felt him- 
self helpless. The silent question — "But is it not 
cowardly to make that a reason for turning away ? *' 
was the form in which he framed his resolve to go 
near her on the first opportunity, and show his re- 
gard for her past confidence, in spite of Sir Hug6*s 
unwelcome hints. 

Klesmer, having risen to Gwendolen as she ap- 
proached, and being included by her in the opening 
canversation with Mirah, bontinued near them' ia 
little while, looking down with a smile, whicli 'was 
rather in his eyes than on his lips, at the piquant 
contrast of the two charming young- creatures seated 
on the red diran. The solicitude seemed to be all 
on the side of the spleridid one. 

"You must let me say how much I am obliged 
to you," said Gwendolen^ "I had heard' from Mr 
Deronda that I should have a great treat in yoitt 
singing, but I was too ignorant to imagine liow 
great." 

" You are very good to say so," answered Mirah, 
her mind chiefly occupied in contemplating ' Gwen- 
dolen. It was like a new kind of stage-experience 
to her to be close to genuine grand ladie^ with gen- 
uine brilliants and complexions, and they impressed 
her vaguely as coming out of some unknown drama, 
in which their parts perhaps got more tragic as they 
went on. . ' 



242 DANIEL DERONDA. 

" We shall all want to learn of yotu— I, atlleadt/' 
said Gwendolen. " I sing very badly, as Heir Klea- 
mer will tell you" — here she glanced" upward to that 
higher power rather archly, and continued — '^but 
I have bcQn rebuked for not liking to be* middling, 
sijace I can be nothing more, I think that is a dif- 
ferent doctrine from yours?" She \)vfa8 still looking 
at Klesn;ier, who said quickly-^ 

"Not if it means that it would be worth while for 
you to study further, and for Miss Lapidoth to have 
the pleasure of helping you." With that he inoved 
away, and Mirah, taking .everything with nawe seri- 
ousness, said — 

** If you think I could teach you, I shall be very 
glad. I am anxious to teach, but I hd«ve only just 
begun. If I do it well, it must be by rismembeiing 
how my master taught me." 

Gwendolen was in reality too uncertain about 
herself to be prepared for this simple promptitude 
of Mirah'^, and in her wish to chimge the subject, 
said, with| some lapse from the good taste of her 
ftfSit address — « 

"You have not been long in Loudon, I think? 
— but you were perhaps introduced to Mr Deronda 
abro^?" 

" No," said Mirah ; " I never saw him before I 
came to England in the summer." 

"But, he has seen you often and heard you sing 
a great deal, has he not ? " said Gwendolen, led on 
partly by the wish to hear anything about Deronda, 
and partly by the a\jrkwardness which besets the. readi- 
est person in carrying on a dialogue when Qmpty of 



BOOK VI. REVELATIONS. 243 

matter. " He spoke of you to me with the highest 
praise. He seemed to know you quite well.*' 

"Oh, I was poor and needed help," said Mirah, 
in a new tone of feeling, "and Mr Deronda has 
given me the best friends in the world. That is 
the only way he came to know anything about mp 
— because he was sorry for me. I had n6' friends 
when I came. I was in distress. I owe everything 
to him.'* 

Poor Gwendolen, who had wanted *to be a strug- 
gling artist herself, could nevertheless not escape the 
impression that a mode of inquiry which would have 
been rather rude towards herself was an amiaMe con- 
descension to this Jewess who was ready to give 
her lessons. Theionly effect on Mirah, as always 
on any mention of Deronda, was to stir reverential 
gratitude and anxiety that she should be understood 
to have the deepest obligation to him. 

But both he and Hans, who Were noticing the 
pair from a distance, would have felt rather indig- 
nant if they had known that the conversatioh had 
led up to Mirah's reptesentation of herself in this 
light of neediness. In the movement that prompted 
her, however, there was an exquisite delicacy, which 
perhaps she could not have stated explicitly — ^the 
feeling .that she ought not to allow any one to 
assume in Deronda a relation of more equality or 
less generous interest towards her than actually (ex- 
isted. Her answer was delightful to Gwendolen: 
she thought of nothing but the ready compassion 
which in another form she had trusted in and found 
for herself; and on the signals that Klesmer was 



244 DANIEL DERQNDA. 

about to play she moved away in mil oh content^ 
entirely without presentiment that this Jewish pro- 
tigee would ever make a more important difference 
in her life than the possible improvement of her 
singing — if the leisure and spirits of a Mrs Grand- 
court would allow of other lessons than such as the 
world was giving her at rather a high charge. 

With her wonted alternation from resolute care of 
appearances to some rash indulgence of an impulse, 
she chose, under the pretext of getting farther feom 
the instrument, not to go again to her former seat, 
but placed herself on a settee where she could only 
have one neighbour. She was .nearer: to Deronda 
than before : was it surprising thait he came up in 
time to shake hands before the music began — then, 
that after he had stood a little while by the elbow of 
the settee at the empty end, the torrent-Uke conflu- 
ences of bass and treble seemed, like a convulsion 
of nature, to cast the conduct of petty mortals into 
insignificance, and to warrant his sitting down ? 

But when at the end of Blesmer's playing there 
came the outburst of talk under which Gwendolen 
had hoped to speak as she would to Deronda, she 
observed tliat Mr Lush was within hearing, leaning 
against the wall dose by them. She could not help 
her flush of anger, but she tried to have only an air 
of polite indifference in saying — 

" Miss Lapidoth is everything you ■ described 
her to be." 

" You have been very quick in discovering that," 
said Deronda, ironically. 

"I have not found out all the excellences you 



BOOK VI. HEVELATIONS. .245 

spoke of — I don't mean that," said Gwendolen*^ 
"but I think her singing is charming, and herself 
too. Her &ce is lovely — not in the lea^t common ; 
and she is such a complete little person. I should 
think she will be a great success." 

This speech was grating to Deronda, and he 
would not answer it, but looked gravely before him. 
She knew that he was displeased with her, and she 
was getting so impatient under the neighbourhood 
of Mr Lush, which prevented her from saying any 
word she wanted to say, that she meditated some 
desperate step to get rid of it, and remained silent 
too- That constraint seemed to last a long while, 
neither Gwendolen nor Deronda looking at the 
other, till Lush slowly relieved the wall of his 
weight, and joined some one at a distance. 

Gwendolen immediately said, " You- despise me 
for talking artificially." 

" No," said Deronda, looking at her coolly 5 " I 
think that is quite excusable sometimes. But I 
did not think what you were last saying was alto- 
gether artificial" 

. " There was somethiii<^ in it that displeased you," 
said Gwendolen. " What was it ? " 

"It is impossible to explain such things," said 
Deronda. "One can never coinmiunicate niceties 
of feeling about words and manner." 

" YoH think I am sliuft out from understanding 
them," said Gwendolen, with a slight tremor in her 
voice, which she was trying to conquer. " Have I 
shown myself so very dense to everything you have 
said?" There was an indescribable look of sup- 



246 DANIEL DERONDA. 

pressed tears in her eyes, whicli were turned on 

him. 

• "Not at all," said Deronda, with some softening 

of voice. "But experience differs for different 

people. We don't all wince at the same things. I 

have had plenty of proof that yon are not dense." 

•He smiled at her. 

"But one may feel things and not be able to do 
anything better for all that," said Gwendolen, not 
smiling in return — the distance to which Deronda' s 
words seemed to throw her chilling her too much. 
" I begin to think we can only get better by having 
people about us who raise good feelings. You must 
not be surprised at anything in me. I think it is 
too late for me to alter. I don't know how to set 
about being wise, as you told me to be." 

"I seldom find I do any good by my preaching. 
I might as well have kept from meddling," said 
Deronda^ thinking rather sadly that his interference 
about that unfortunate necklace might end in noth- 
ing but an added pain to him in seeing her after all 
hardened to another sort of gambling than roulette. 

"Don't say that," said Gwendolen, hurriedly, 
feeling that this might be her only chance of get- 
ting the words uttered, and dreading the increase 
of her own agitation. "If you despair of me, I 
shall despair. Your saying that* I should not go on 
being selfish and ignorant has been soine strength 
to me. If you say you wish yoii had not meddled 
' — ^that means, you despair of me and forsake me. 
And then you will decide for me that I shall not 
l^e good. It is you who will decide ; because you 



BOOK VI. REVELATIONS. 24T 

might have made me difiereut by keeping as near to 
me as yon cotild, and believing in me." 

She had not been looking at him as she spoke, 
but at the heundle of the fan which she held olosed. 
With the last Trord^ she rose and left him^ returning 
to her former place^ which had been. left. vacant 5 
while every oae was setthng into quietude in ex* 
pectation of Mirah's voice, which presently, with 
that wonderful, searching quality of subdued song 
in which the melody seems simply an effect of the 
emotion, gave forth, Per pietd non dirmi addio* 

In Deronda's ear the strain was. for the moment 
a continuance of Gwendolen's pleading — a painful 
urging of something vague and difficulty irrecon* 
cilable with pressing conditions, and yiet -cruel to 
resist. However strange the mixture in hec of a 
resolute pride and a precocious air of knowing the 
world, with a precipitate, guileless indiscretiiOD, he 
was qtiite sure now that the tnixture existed. Sir 
Hugo's hints had made him alive to dangers that 
his own disposi)tion might have neglected ; but that 
Gwendolen's reliance on- him was un visited by any 
dream • of ids being a man who could misinterpret 
her was as manifest as morning, and made an appeal 
which wrestled with his sense of presejdtt dangers^ 
and with his fbrebodiiig of a growing incompatible 
claim on him in her mind. There: was a foreshadow** 
ing of some pain&l coUisioii : on the one side the 
grasp of Mordecai- s dying hand on him, with all the 
ideals and prospects it aroused ; on the other this 
fiiir creature in . silk and gems^ wifeh h^r hidden 
wound and her self-dr.^ad, making a trustful effort 



248 DANIEL DERONDA. 

to lean and find herself sustained. It was as. if he 
had a vision of himself besought with outstretched 
arms and cries, while he was caught by the waves 
and compelled to mount the vessel bound for a far- 
off coast. That was the strain of excited feeling in 
him that went along with the notes of Mirah's song ; 
but when it ceased he moved from his seat with the 
reflection, that he had been falling into an exaggera- 
tion of his own importance, and a ridiculous readi- 
ness to accept Gwendolen's view of. himself," as if 
he could ireally have any decisive power over her. 

^* What an enviable fellow you are,'' said Hans to 
himj " sitting on a sofa with that young duchess, 
and haviiig an interesting quarrel with her ! " 

" Quarrel with her ? " repeated Deronda, rather 
uncomfortably. 

" Oh, about theology, of course ; nothing personaL 
But. she told, you what you ought to think, and then 
left you with a grand air which was admirablp. Is 
she' an Antinomian? — if so, tell her I am an Antir 
nomian "painter, and introduce me. . I should like to 
paint her and her husband. He has the sort of 
handsome physique that the Duke ought to have 
in Lucrezia Borgia-*—^ it could go with a fine . bari- 
tone, which it can't." 

Deronda devoutly hoped that Hans' s account of 
the impression his* dialogue with Gwendolen had 
made on a distant beholder was no more than a 
bit of fantastic representation, such as was common 
with him. 

And Gwenddlen was not without hei after-thoughts 
that her husband's eyes might have been 'on her, ex- 



BOOK VI.— KBfVBLATIONS. 249 

tracting something to reprove — some offence against 
her dignity as his wife ; her consciousness telling 
her that she had not kept np the perfect air of 
equability in public which was her own ideal. But 
Grandcourt made no observation on her behaviour. 
All he said as they were driving home was — 

"Lush will dine with us among the other people 
to-morrow. You will treat him civilly." 

Gwendolen's heart began to beat violently. The 
words that she wanted to utter, as one wants to 
return a blow, were, "You are breaking your pro- 
mise to me — the first promise you made me." But 
she dared not utter them. She was as frightened 
at a quarrel as if she had foreseen that it would end 
with ihiiottling- fingers on her neok. After a pausfe, 
she said in the tone rather of defeat than resent- 
ment-^ / / • 

"I thought you did not intend him to frequent 
the house again." 

" I want him just now. He is useful to me ; and 
he must be treated -civiUyi" 

Silence; There . may come a moment when, even 
an escceHent husband who has. dropt smoking under 
more or less of a- pledge during courtship,' for the 
first time will' introduce his 'cigar<-sbioke between 
himself and his wife, with the tacit tmdeTstd.nding 
that she will have to put up with it. Mr Liish was, 
so to speak^ a very large cigar. 

If these are the sort, of loversWows at which Jove 
iaoghs, he must have a m&tty time of it. 

VOL. II. ! ' .- .'I .; 



250 



CHAPTEE XLVI 



" If any one should importune me to give a reason why I loved him, I 
feel it could no otherwise be expressed than by making answer, * Beoause 
it was he ; because i^ was I.' There is, beyon4 whAt I am able to say, I 
know not what inexplicable and inevitable power that brought on this 
union."-^MoNTAiGNB : On FHrndshipi, 



The time had oome to prepare Mordeoai for the 
TeYelation of the restored sister and for the change 
of abode which was desirable before Mirah's meeting 
with her brother. Mrs Meyriok, to whom Deronda 
had confided everything except Mordecai's peculiar 
relation to himself^ had been active in helping him 
to find a suitable lodging in Bromptbn, not many 
minutes' . walk from her own house^ so that the 
brotiiOT and sister would be within reach of her 
motherly care. Her happy mixture of Scottish 
caution with her Scottish fervour and Gallic liveli- 
ness had enabled her to keep the secret close from 
the girls as well as from Hans, any betrayal to them 
being likely to reach Mirah in some way that would 
rai«e an agitating suspicion, and spoil the important 
opening of that work which was to secure her inde- 
pendence, as we rather arbitrarily call one of the more 
arduous and dignified forms of our dependence. And 



BOOK VL BEVBIATJONS. 251 

both Mrs Mejriok and Deronda had more reasons 
than they could .have expressed for desiring that 
Mirah shonld be able to mamtain herse^if. Perhaps 
"the little mother " was rather helpjed in her secrecy 
by some dubiousness in her sentiment about the 
remarkable brother described to her ; and certainly, 
if she felt any joy and anticipatory a4miration, it 
•was due to her £aith in Deronda's judgment. The 
consumption was a sorrowful faot that appealed to 
her tetidemess; but how was sh^ to be very glad 
of an enthuftiasm which, to tell the truth,. sh0 could 
only oonteibplate as Jewish pertinacity, and as rather 
an undesirable introduction among them all of a man 
whose conversation would not be more modem and 
encoxiraging than that of Scott's Covenant's ? Heir 
miiid was< (anything but prosaic, and she had her 
soberer t^iare of Mab's delight in the romance of 
Mirah's story and of her abode with: them ; faut the 
roznantic or unuaual in real life requires some adapta- 
tion. We sit up at night to read about Sakya-Mouni, 
Saint Francis, or Oliver Cromwell ; but whether we 
shcmld be glad for any one at all like them to call 
on us the next morning, still more, to reveal himself 
as a new relation, is quite another. affair. Besides, 
Mrs Meyrick had hoped, as her children did, that 
the intensity of Mirah's feeling Jibbout Judaism would 
slowly subside, and be merged in the gradually 
deepening current of loving intetrchange with heir 
neW' friends. In fia-ct, her secret favourite contin- 
uiation of ' the romance had been no discovery of 
Jewish relations, but something much more favour- 
able to the hopes she discerned in Hanfe. And now 



252 DANIEL DERONDA. 

-^here was a brother who would dip Mirah'g mind 
over again in the deepest dye of Jewish sentiment. 
She conld not help saying to Deronda — 

*' I am as glad as you are that the pawnbroker ie 
not her brother : there are Ezras and' Ezras in the 
world ; and really it is a comfort to thinfe that all 
Jews are not like those shopkeepers who will rvot 
let you get out of their shops ; and besides, what 
he said to you about his mother and sister makes 
me bless him.* I am sure he's good. But I never 
did like anything fanatical. I suppose I heard a 
little too much preaching in my youth,- and lost 
my palate for it." * 

"I don't think you will find that Mordecai ob- 
trudes any preaching," said Deronda. "He is not 
what I should call fanaticaL I call a man fanatical 
when his enthusiasm is narrow and hoodwinked^ so 
that he has no sense of proportions, and becomes 
unjust and unsympathetic to men who are oiit of bis 
own track. Mordecai is an enthusiast ; I should likte 
to keep that word for the highest order of minds— 
those who care supremely for grand and geneofal 
benefits to mankind. He is not a strictly orthodox 
Jew, and is full of allowances for others: his con- 
formity in many things is an allowance for the 
conditidn of other Jews. The people he lives- with 
are as fond of him as possible, and they can't in the 
least understand his ideas." 

" Oh, well, I can live up to the level of the pawn- 
broker's mother, and like him for what' I see to foe 
good in him ; and for what I don't see the merits 
of I will take your word. According to your def- 



BOOK . l\rL^-^REVBLATIONS. 253 

iaaition, I. suppose one might be faSiatical in wbr- 
ahipping common -sense ; for my knsband used to 
fl&y the wcMfld would be a» poor place if there were 
nothiaig but common-sense in it. . However, Mireth's 
birotber will have good bedding — that I have taken 
oove of ; and I shall have' this extra* window pasted 
up with ..paper to prevent draughts.'* (The con- 
versation was taking place in the destined lodging.) 
"It is .a comfort: to think that the pedpla of the 
house are no strangers to me — no hypocritical 
harpies. And when the children know, we shaE 
be able to make the rooms much prettier." . 

• ".The next stage of the affair is to tell all to 
Mordeoai, and get; him to move — ^^ which i may be » 
more difficult business," said Deibnda. 

" And will you tell Mirah before I say anything 
to the children ? " said Mrs Meyrick. But Dercmda 
hesitated, and she went on in' a tone of persuasive 
deliberation — "No, I think not* Let. me tell Hdns 
and the girls thi^ evening before^ and they will be 
^way the next morning." 

: "Yes, that will be besti But do justice to my 
account of Mordecai — or Ezra, as I suppose Mirab 
will (wish t6 call' him: don-t assist their imagination 
by referriiig :to ;Habakkuk Mucklewrath,*' said Ber-' 
onda, smilitig, — ^^Mrs Meyrick herself hatting used 
the comparison of the Oovenantera 

^* Trust ibi&j tnast me," said the:fittle mother. J " I 
shall have to persuade them' so hard to be glad, that 
Ii:shall convert ! myself. • Wh^i I : dm frightened I 
find it a good thing to have 8omeb6dy to be iin^ry 
tvith for not being hrave': it warms the blood*/' 



254 DANIEL DERONDA. 

Deronda might have been more argumentative or 
persuasive about the view to be taken of Mirah's 
brother, if he had been less anxiously preoccupied 
.with the more important / task immediately before 
him, which he desired: to acquit himself of without 
wounding the Gohen& M^liordeoai, by aJ memorable 
answer, had made it ei^ddent . that he would be 
keenly ahve to any inadvertence in relation to their 
feelings. In the interval,' he had been meeting 
Mordeoai at the Hand and Banner, bat now aftei* 
due reflection he wrote to him saying *diat he had 
particular reasons- for wishing to see him in his 
own home the next evening, and would beg to sit 
with him in his workroom for an hour, if the Cohens 
would not regard it as ah intrusion. • He would call 
with the- understanding that if there were any ob- 
jection, Mordecai would accompany him elsewhere. 
Deronda hoped in this way to create a little expeo- 
tatidii that would have a preparatory effect. 

He was received with the nsual firiendliness, sowie 
additional costume in the women and children, and 
in all the elders a slight air of wondering which 
men in Cohen wtos not allowed to pass the bounds 
e£ silence — the guest's transactions with Mordeoai 
being a soft of mystery -which he was rathier proud 
to think lay outside 1^ sphere of light which en- 
closed his own Hndierstanding. But when Deronda 
said, '^ I suppose Hordecai is at home and: expecting 
me,'' Jacob, who had profited by the fiunily remarks,, 
wentu]^ to his knee and said, "What do you want 
to talk to Mordeoai about?" 

" Something that is very interesting to him," said 



BOOK VL— KEVJiLATJONS. 355 

Deronda, pinclaingtbe lad's ear, '<bvit that you can't 
understand."' i 

' . " Can yan say tl^is ? " said . Jacob, immediately 
giving forth a string of his rote -learned Hebrew 
vierses witb a wonderfiil mixture of the throaty -and 
the nasal, and nodding his ,smalMaead at his hearer, 
with. ^ sense of giving formidable 0vid<»ic^e - which 
might rather alter rtbedr miilaial position. ^ 

"No, really,V said Derondla, fe^eping gra,ve ; "I 
feian't' say anything like it." 

■ , "I thought not," said Jacob, peifoiming a danoe 
Krf triumph with his small scarlet legs, 'white h^ 
took various objects out of the de^ pockets of his 
knickerbockers and returned them thithjBr,; as a 
'slight hi»t of. his resources ; after which running 
to the door, of the workroom, he openeid it wide, set 
his ba(jk against it, and said, ".J^Iordecai,! .herels 
the young swell " — a copying of hia father's pjiraae 
wWoh seemed to, hifn well fitted to cap the recitation 
of Hebrew. 

He wae called, back with hushes, by mother and 
•grandmother, and Deronda, entering aoad; closing 
the door behind him, saw that a bit of carpet had 
been laid down, a chair placed, and the fire and 
lights attended to, in fign df the Oohens' respect. 
Afl Mordec^i rose to greet himi, Deronda was struefe 
with the air of solemn., expectatioti in/ his fooe, such 
as would have seemed perfectly natural if his letter 
had declared that soBde revelation was to he.iicm.de 
about the lost sister. Neither of them spbfce, till 
J)fiit»ida, with his upual tendemeps of maJo,nfer^ had 
drawn the vacant chair from th^ opposite aide of 



2516 DANIEL DEROI^DA ' 

thte hearth and hswi seated • himself iie^T! to Mbrdecai, 
who then said, in a tone of fervid certainty-^ 
' " Yon are come to tell me something* that my ^oul 
longs for." ! 

' ^^Ifi is tme'that I: have something very weighty 
to tell you^^ something, I trust/ that you will re- 
joice in," said Deronda, on his guard against the< "pro- 
bability that Mordecai had been preparing fhiilafielf 
for something quite dififereiit from the fact. 

" It is all revealed — it is made clear to you," said 
Mordecai, more eagerly, leaning forward with'clAsped 
handy. ""You are even as my brother that sucked 
the breasts of my mother — the heritage is yours-^ 
there is no doubt to divide us." 

"I have learned nothing new about' myiself," sitd 
Deronda. I'he disappointment' was Inevitable t ' it 
was better not to let the feeling be strained* kngier 
in a mistaken hope. ' . 

Mordecai sank back in his chair, unable for the 
moment to care what was really coming. The whole 
day his mind, had been in a state < of tiensioa to weirds 
one fulfilmtent^' The readtion Was siokenitig; and he 
closed' his eyes. ' "' ■ 

i' "Except," Deronda WQnt on gently-after a pause, 
—*^ precept. that' I had really isome time ago come 
ibto anotfeer sort' of hidden connectioin with 'y6ti, 
besides what you have spoken of as existing in jf^^r 
own feeling." . v . 

•' The elyeEl were not opened, 'but therfe was a flutfceri- 
i% in the: lids. ' > i^ •: . i; 

' '^^^I'had: made the acquaintance cif one in whoto 
Jrou are iriterepted." J • " • '' 



B005 . YI. fiEyBULTXONS. 257 

Mordecai| opened his eyes aod fixed ihem in a 
qujet gatzQ ou DeroHida: the foiriper painful chedk 
repressed all activity, of coojeoture. 

"One wj)0;tis cloaely: ralatedi to your departed 
mothjer," Derpnda went on, wishing to iiiake thedis- 
doi^ure gradual* ; bi:<t noticing a shrinking movement 
in Mordecs^,; hfe. adtJed — " whom ehe and you held 
dear above .all others." 

Mordecai, with a sudden 8itatt,rlaid a .spasmiodic 
grasp on Deronda's ,Tyris.t»; there was a-^reeU* terror 
in. him. ^-iwi Dero^da divined it A tremor, was 
perceptible in hi^ CtUar tom$s as he said — . 

"What was prayed for has. cpnje to pas$ : Mirah 
has been delivered from e^iL" , 

Mprdecai's grasp relaxed a little^ but hei was pant-* 
iijg with a spirt of tearlpss sob., ' 

Deronda wr^nt on ; "Your sister iis worthy gf the» 
mother you honoured*" ,, , . ; . . i ,. 

He waited there, and Mordecai, throwiiitg himself 
backward in his ch^ii;, again closed his: eyes, utter- 
ing himself almost inaudibly for some minutes in- 
Hebrew, and then subsiding into a ha^py- looking 
silence. Deronda, watching the expreisBion in his 
uplifted faoe> could have imagined th^t ha was speak- 
iQg vnth som^ beloved object : there i?vas a^ new suft 
(used sweetness, so;]aething like ^th^tt .oql. , th^ fences 
of the beaujtiful dead. For the„first time Derosijkd^i 
thougjit ho discerned a family, resemblance to Mirah; , 
tPz:esentily, jwhen, Mprdecai'jw^s .r^ady; to listen, thj^^ 
rest was tol^- But. in acG0]:mting for Mirah's, fl%ht 
he made l^e. statepjients al;)o^t..the fethejr's . |co^4uil?t 
as vague as he could, and, threw th§.. emphasis ou 



258 DANIEL DERON'DA. 

her yeamitig to come t6 England ad the place where 
she might find her mother. Also he kept back th0 
fact of Mirah^s intention to drown herself, and his 
own part in resonitig her; merely describing the 
home she had found with friends of his, whose 
interest in her anii efforts for her he ' had shared. 
What he dwelt on finally was Mirah*ft feiiling about 
her mother and brother ; and in relation to this he' 
tried to give every detail. 

**It was in search of them," gJdd Deronda, ^inilirig, 
"that I turned into this house : the nariie Ezra Cohen 
was just then the mbst interest^iig namfe in the world 
to me. I confess I had a fear for a long while. Per- 
haps you will forgive me now for having asked you 
that question about the elder Mrs Cohen's daughter. 
I cared very much what I should find Mirah's friendl^ 
to b6. But I had found a brother worthy of her 
when I knew that her Ezra was disguised under the 
name of Mbrdecai." 

"Mordeoai is really iny name — Ezra Mordecai 
Cohen." ■• - ^ •■ 

"Is there ^ny kinship between this family and 
yours?" said Deronda. 

"Only the kinship of Israel. My sotil cUngs'td 
these p€k)ple, wh6 have sheltered me and given me 
succour out of the affection that abides ih Jewish 
hearts, as a sweet 'odour in things long 6rushed*and 
htdleh from the outer air. It is good for me to bear 
with their ignorance and b6 bound to them 'in grati- 
tude, thfiit I may keep in mitid the spiritual poverty 
<!tf the Jewish nkillion, and not put impatient know- 
ledge in the stead of loving wisdom." 



BOOK VI. RETEI/ATIONS. '259 

'^Bnt you don't feeil bound ta obntiaue with them 
novr there is d. oloiBer tie to dtkw you ? "! said Der- 
<mda, not withou^t feac that h^ might iOnd an obstacle 
to overcdmeu ^*It seems to mo Hght now— is it 
not? — that you, should live with your sifeter; arid I 
have prepared a home to take you iio in the neigh- 
bourhood of her friends, that she may join you there. 
Pray grant me this wish. It wiU eaiiable me to be 
with yor^ often in th© hours when Hirah is obliged 
to lea\ie you. Tliat is my selfish reason. But the 
chief reason is, that Mirah .will i desire 'to« watch over 
youy and : that you. ought to give to her the guardian- 
ship d[ a brother'ft :presence. You shall have books 
about you. I shall want to learn* of. you, and to 
take you oui to see the river and treesj And you 
wiU have the rest and conifort that you Will be more 
and Ehare'iu need of-— nay^ that • I neeid for you. 
This is the' claim I make on lyou, how>t}iat we have 
found each. 6ther." r ' i. ; -■ ., 

Deronda spoke in a tone of earnest affectionht^ 
pleading, such' as he mig^ hare used to a ytsn- 
erated elder brothm*. Mordecai's eyes were fixed 
on him with a listening. > contemplation, and he was 
sikoot for a. little while after Deronda /had ceased to 
spfdakJ . Tbsn he said, wiih ^an alinost reproachfol 
emphasis— r* . 

• ** And you would have mo' hold it doubtful whether 
you were bom a Jew I Have we not from the first 
touched each 6ther.with invisible fibres — have we \ 
not quivered together like the leaves from a common 
Btem with stirrings from a common root? I know 
what I am outwardly-^I am one amcaag the crowd 



260 DANIEL DERONDA. 

of pcDOT-^I am; striokeh, I am dying. But ottr 'feouls 
kniow each other. They gazed in silence as those 
who have* long been partedi and meet again, i bat 
when the J found voice >they were assured, and all 
their speech is understanding. ; The life of Israel 
is in ;your veins.'* . . 

.' Dferonda sat perfectly still, but felt his face tingi 
ling. I It was impossible either to deny or assent 
He Waited, hoping that Mordecai would * presently 
give him a more direct answer. And after & pause 
of meditation heidid sayfiiimly'^— , > 

" What you wish of me I; will do.. < And ouf ^mother 
!— may the blessing /of the- Eternal ba^with'iheriiH 
our souls I-r^ Would have wished it too. • I will aoce^ 
iWhat ydur loving-kindness ha^ prepared,: and- MiraWs 
home shall be mine.'' He paused a moment, Ealnd 
then added in an more melancholy tone, " Bui I shall 
grieive to part from th«se parents and dhe little 
ones. You must tell them, for my heart ^ould 
fail me." ' - • . i 

>'/I felt that you wonlild want me to tell them» 
Shall we go now at once?" .said Deronda, much 
relieved! by this unwavering- compliance* j < 

"Yes; let ub not defer; it. It mtist, be doaae/ 
said Mordecai, rising with the air of a: man whb has 
to perform a painful duty. Then came, as aor after* 
tluought, " But do not dwell on my sister more than 
is needfuL" . ■:'■'. 

When they entered the parlour he said' td the 
alert Jacob, " Ask your ■ Either to come, and teU 
Sarah to mind the shop. = My friend has something 
to -say," he continued,, turning to the elder Mrs 



BOOK VI. ^REVEIifTIONS. 361 

Goheni. It seemed part of Mordecai^s eccentricity 
that he should call this gentleman his friend ; and 
the two womisn tried to show their better manners 
by warm politenese in begging Derondu to seat, 
himself in the best plstce. 

When Cohen entered with a pen behiod his ear, 
he rubbed his hands and said with loud satisfaction, 
" Well, sir ! Fm glad you're doing us the honour to 
join our family party again. We are pretty coitifort- 
able, I think." 

He looked round with shiny gladness. And when 
all were seated on the hearth the scene was worth 
peeping in upon : on one side Baby under her 
scarlet quilt in the comer being rocked by the 
young mother, and Adelaide Eebekah seated on 
the grandmother's kn^ ; on the other, Jacob be- 
tween his father's legsf while the two markeidly 
different figures of Deronda and Mordecai were in 
the middle — Mordecai a little backward; in the^ 
shade, anxious to conceal his agitated suscepti- 
bility to what was going on : around him. The 
chief light came from the fire, which brought out 
the rich colour on a depth of shadow, and seemed 
to turn into speech the dark gems of eyes that 
looked ^at each other kindly. 

" I have just' been telliijg Mordecai of an event 
that: makes a great (Change in his life," Deronda 
begcln, "but I hope- you will agree with me that 
it is a jbyfiil one. Since he thinks of ybu as his 
best friends, he wishes me to tell you for him at 
once." .... 

"Eolations with money, sir?" burst in Cohen, 



362 DANIEL DERONDA.' 

feeling a power of divination which it was a pity 
to nullify by waiting for the fact. 

" No ; not exactly," said Deronda, smiliaag. " But 
a very preoioms relation wishes to be reunited to him 
— a very good and lovely young sister, who will 
care for his comfort in every way*" 

"Married, sir?" 

" No, not married." 

" But with a maintenance ? " 

"With talents which will secure her a mainten* 
ance* A home is already provided for Mordecai." 

There was silence for a moment or two before the 
grandmother said in a wailing tone— 

" Well, well I and so youfce going awdry fronx us, 
Mordecai." 

" And where there's no children as there is. here/' 
said the mother, catching the wail. ' 

" No Jacob, and no Adelaide, and no Eugenie 1 " 
wailed the gTamdmother again. 

" Ay, ay, Jacob's learning 'iU all wear out of him. 
He must go to school. ■ Itll be hard times for Jacob," 
said Cohen, in a tone of decision. 

In the wide-open ears of Jacob his fe.ther's words 
sounded like a doom, giving an awful finish to the 
dirge-like effect of the whole announcement. His 
face had been gathering a wondering incredulous 
sorrow at the notion of Mordecai's going away : he 
was unable to imagine the change as anything 
lasting ; but at the mention of " hard times for 
Jacob " there was no further suspense of feeling, 
and he broke forth in loud lamentation. Adelaide 
Rebekah always cried when her brother cried, and 



BOOK VI. — REVELATIONS. 263 

liow Degan to howl with astoipshiiig suddenness, 
whereupon baby awa.king contributed angry screams, 
and required to be tak^u out of ^the orHidle. A great 
deal of hushing was necessary, and Mordecai, feel- 
ing the cries pierce hina, put out his arms to Jacob, 
who in the midst of his tears and sobs was turning 
his head right and left for general observation. His 
father, who had been, saying, " Never mind, old man ; 
yoii shall go to the riders," now released him, and 
he went to Motdecai^ who clasped Thim, and, laid his 
ch^k on the little blaok head without speaking. 
Bui Cohen, sensible that' the master of the family 
must make isome apology for all this weakness, and 
that the occasion called for a speech, addressed 
Deronda with some elevation o£ ()itch, squaring his 
elbows and resting a hand on each knee ; — 

" It's not as we're the people to grudge anybody's 
good luck, sir, or the portion of their cup being 
made fuller, as I may !say. Via tiot an envious 
man, and if anybody offered to set up Mordecai in 
a shop of my sort two doors lower down, / shouldn't 
make wry faces about it. Tm not one of them that 
had need have a poor opinion of themselves, and be 
frightened at anybody else getting a chance. If 
I'm offal, let a wise man come and tell me, for I've 
never heard it yet. And in point of business, I^m 
not a class of goods to be in danger. If anybody 
takes to rolling me, I can pack myself up like a 
caterpillar, and find my feet when I'm let alone. 
And though, as I may saj^, you're taking some of 
our good works from us, which is a property bearing 
interest, I'm not saying but we can afford that, 



264 D4NIEL DERONDA. 

though my mother and my wife had the good will 
t<3' wish and do for Mordeoai to the last ; and a Jew 
must not be like a servant' who works for reward--* 
though I see nothing against a reward if I can get 
it* And as to the extra .outlay in schooling- Tm 
neither poor nor greedy — I wouldn't hang myself 
for sixpence, nor half a crown neither. But the 
tnlth of it is, the women and children are fond of 
Mordecai. You may partly see how* it is, sir, by 
your own sense. A Jewish man is bound to thank 
God, day bjr day, that he was ndt made a woman; 
but a woinah has to thank Gk)d that He has madd 
her according to His will. And we all know what 
He has madie her — a child*bearing, tender4ibarted 
thing is the woman of our people. Her children atd 
mostly stout, as I think you'll say Addy's are^ and 
she's' not mushy, but her heart is tender. So you 
must excuse present company, sir, for not being glad 
all at once. And las to this young lady*— for by 
what you say ' young lady ' is the proper term " — 
Cohen heife threw feome additional emphasis into his 
look and tone — '^ Vre shall all be glad for Mordeoai'e 
sake by-and-by, when we cast up our accounts iind 
see where we are." 

Before Deronda could summon any answer to thifi 
oddly mixed speech^ Mordecai ex<ilaimed — 

"Friends, friends! For food and raiment and 
shelter I would not hav^e sought better than ybu 
have given me. You have sweetened the morsel 
with love; and what I thought of as a joy thiit 
would be left to me even in the laist months of my 
waning strength was to go on teaching the lad. But 



BOOK VI.— REVELATIONS. 265. 

now I am as one who had clad himse'lf beforehand 
in his shroud, and used himself to making the^ grave 
his bed, wh^n the divine command sotiinded in his 
eajis, * Arise, and go forth; the night is not y^t 
come.' For no light matter wbuld I have turned 
away from yonr kindness to take ariother'sJ But it 
has been taught us, as you knoiv^, that the reward of 
one duty is the power io fulfil another^-^BO said Ben 
Azai* You have made your duty to one of the pC>OT 
Among your brethren a joy to yom aaid mis ; and jfour 
reward shall be that you will not - rest withoiit the 
joy of like deeds in the time to oome. And may not 
Jacob oome and visit me ? " . - , 

Mordeoai had turned with, this question to Det-. 
onda, who said-^ ' [ 

^* Surely that' can be managed, ii is (no further 
than Bromptbn." 

^acob, who had befw gradually calmied by the nieefi 
to hear what was going forward, began now to^ see' 
some daylight on the' future, the word "visit" hav- 
ing the lively chartn jof cakes and general relaxcttion 
at his grandfather's, the dealer in knives* He danbed 
away from Mordecai, amd took, up a station of sur- 
vey in the middle of the hearth with his hands in 
his kniokOTbookefs. t . ' i 

"Well,"' said the grandmother, with a sigh of 
resignartion, " I hope there'll be ;pLotihing in the way 
of your getting keeker meat, Mdrdecai. For yoii'tt 
havet^ trust to those you live with." 

" That's all right, that's all, rightj you may b^ 
irare, mother," said Cbhenj as if anxious to cut oflf 
inquiry on matters in which he was uncertain of 



266 DANIEL DERONDA* 

the jest's position. "So, sir," he added, turning' 
with a look' of amiised enlightenment to Derohda,} 
"it was be*ter than learning you had to talk to 
Mordeoai about ! I wondered to myself .at the time. 
I thought somehow there was a soinething.'^ i 

" Mordeoai will perhaps explain tb you how it wa» 
that I was seeking him," said Deronda, feeling itkat 
he had better go, and rising a)3 he spoke* 

It' was agreed that he should come again and fthA 
final move be made on the next day but one ; but 
when he was going; Mordeoai begged to walk: wi^ 
him to ■ the end of the street, and wrapped hitnself 
in coat and comforter. It was a March evening, a&d 
Deronda did not mean to let him go far. Taut he un- 
derstood the wish to be outside the house with, him 
in communicative silence, after the exciting speech 
that had been filling the last hour. No word was 
spoken until* Deronda had propofeed parting^ when 
he said — r - . ' • , 

" Mirah would wish to thank the Cohens for their 
goodness. You would wish her to do sor-to come 
and see themj wbxdd you not ? " 

Mordeoai did not answer immediately,, but at length 
said-^ 

" I cannot tell. I fear not. Theire is a &mily 
Sorrow, and the sight' of my sister might be to them 
as the fresh bleeding of wounds. There is a daughter 
aiid sister who will never be restored as Mirah ifl^ 
But who knows the pathways ? We axe aU of ua 
denying or fulfilling prayers— -and rden' in their care- 
less deeds walk amidst invisible outstretched arms 



BOOK VL— ^REVELATIONS. 267 

and pleadings made in vain. In my ears I have the 
prayers of generations past and to come. My life is 
as nothing to me but the beginning of fulfilment. 
And yet I am only another prayer — which you will 
fulfil." 

Deronda pressed his hand^ and they parted. 



26S 



CHAPTEE XLVII. 



* And you must love him ere to you 
He will seem worthy of your love." 

— Wordsworth. 



One might be tempted to envy Deronda providing 
new clothes for Mordecai, and pleasing himself as 
if he were sketching a picture in imagining the 
effect of the fine grey flannel shirts and a dressing- 
gown very much like a Franciscan's brown frock, 
with Mordecai' s head and neck above them. Half 
his pleasure was the sense of seeing Mirah's brother 
through her eyes, and securing her fervid joy from 
any perturbing impression. And yet, after he had 
made all things ready, he was visited with a doubt 
whether he were not mistaking her, and putting the 
lower effect for the higher : was she not just as 
capable as he himself had been of feehng the im- 
pressive distinction in her brother all the more for 
that aspect of poverty which was among the memo- 
rials of his past? But there were the Meyricks to 
be propitiated towards this too Judaic brother ; and 
Deronda detected himself piqued into getting out of 
sight everything that might feed the ready, repug- 



BOOK VI.^— ^HEVELAlTONS. 269 

nance in minds unblessed with tliat "precious see- 
kig," that bathing of all objects in a solenmity as of 
snnset-glow, which is begotten of a loving re^v^r^ntial 
^motioa.: .,..'■■ 

Abd his inclination wonld have been the more 
confinned if he^ had heard the dialogue round Mts 
MeyricFs fire late in the evening, after Mirali had 
gone to her room. Hans, settled now in his Chel- 
sea rooms, had stayed late, and Mrs Meyrick, pofciiig 
the fife into a blaze, said — 

"Now, Kate, put but your candle, and all comef 
round the fire cosily. Hans, deal*, do leave oif 
laughing at' those poeni'6 for the ninety-ninth time, 
and come too. I have something* wonderfdl to 
tell you." 

' "As if I diciri^t krioW that,' ma. I have seen it 
in the corti^r of your ejre ever" so long, and' in 
your pretence ' 6f errands/'' said' Kate, while the 
^rls came to ptit their ffeet on the fender", and 
Hans, pushing his chair near them, sat astride it, 
resting his fists and chin on the back. 

"Well, then, if ^ou are so wise, perhaps you 
know that Mirah's brcbther is found 1 " ' isaid Mrs' 
Meyrick, in her cleai^efet adcents. ' 
' "Oh, confound it!" said Hans, rA the '6ame 
motnent. ., ; 

"teanSy'that is racked," said Mab.' "Suppose 
we* had lost you." • ' 

"I (xin not help beitt^ rather 'sorry," said Kate. 
"Arid lier mother ?— where is she?" 

"Her mother is dead." ' ' 

' "I^ope the brother is not a'bad man,"' said Amy 



270 DANIEL PERONDA- , 

" IJpr ia feUow all smiles aiid jewellery — at CryaiM 
Palf^ce Assyrian with a hat on," said Haua, in th^ 
worst ; humour. . ; . 

" Were there ever such unfeeling childrei?- ? ** said 
Mrs .Meyrigk, a little Strengthened by th© need for 
oppoaition, "You don't think the. J^a&t bit.; of 
Mii^ah's jpy in the matter." . 

"yoU; know, ma, Mirah hardly remembers to^r 
brother," said Kate. 

"People who are lost for twelve! yeai:$ should 
nev^r come back again," said Hans. "They are 
always in the way." i. , 

"Haps!" said Mrs Meyriok, reproachfully. "If 
you Md- loflt me, for twenty jeeLrs, I should have 
thought " 

"I said twelve years," Hans broke. ^.| ",Any- 
wfiere about t twelve years is the , time; at which 
lost relations shoutd keep put of the way," 

"Well, but it's nice finding people -ttt there is 
something to. tell," said Mg^b, clasping her knees* 
"Did Prince Oamaralzaman find him?" 

Then Mrs, Meyrick, in her neat nawative way, 
told all she knew .without interrupti9n. " Mr Derr 
onda has the highest admiration for him," she ended 
— " aeems q;i;ite to look up to him. And he. says 
Mirah is just the sister to understand this brother." 

"Peronda is getting perfectly prepostjBrous about 
those Jews," said Hans with disgust, rising and 
setting bis chair away with a bang. "Hi^, waists 
to do everything, he can to encourage li^rah in 
her prejudices." 

". Oh;, for sham«, Hans ! — to speak in that way 



BOOK VI. REVKIiAllONS. 271 

of Mr Ueronda," said Mab. And Mrs • MeyrioFs 
face showed something like an under* current of 
expression, not allowed to get to the surface. 

" And now we shall never be all together," Hans' 
went on, walking about with hija hands thrust into the 
pockets of his brown velveteen coat, '* but we ftiust 
have this prophet Elijah to tea with uft, and Mirah 
will think of nothing but sitting oh the rtiins 'of 
Jerusalem. She will be spoiled M an artist — mind 
that — she will get as narrow as a ntln. Bvetyfthmg 
will be epoiled— our home and everything. * I shall 
take to drinking." ' 

" Oh, really, Hans," said Kat6, impatiently, " I do 
think men are the most contem|rtible animals ih 
all creation. Every one t)f them must have every- 
thing to his mind, else he is unbearable.'* 

'*0h, oh, oh, it's very dreadfull" cried Mab. "I 
feel as if ancient Nineveh were come again/* 

"I shdold like to know what is the good of 
having gone to the nniversity and knowing every- 
thing, if you are so childish, Hans," said Amy. 
" Yon ought to put np with a man that Providence 
sends you to be kind to. We sh^have to ^utup 
with kim." 

" I hc^ yon will all of you like the new Lamenta- 
tions of Jeremiah — *to be cowtinned in our neit' 
— that's all," said Hans, seizing his wide-awake. 
"It's no ^ise being one thing more than another 
if on«' has to endure the company of those nien 
with a fixed idea — sitaring blankly at- yon, and 
requiring all your remarks! to be small footnotes 
to their text. If you're to be under a petrifying 



272 .BANJBIi DERONDAi ' 

Weill, yoti'd better . be . an oM boot. I don't' fefel 
myself ^.old boot." Tben abruptly, "Good-night; 
little mother," beiviing to kiss her brow in a hasty^ 
desperate pjannei^, and condescendingly, on "hitf way 
to the 4t)or, " Good-night, girls." . 

" Suppose Mirah knew how you are hehavuig," 
said Kate* But her answer was a slam of the door. 
" J 9hqulf[ li^e to see, Mirah when Mr; ©erondi. ttjlls 
her," sh,6 went an, to her mother, "I know sh^ 
will look sp beautiftiL" , > .• 

But Deroiada on seoond thoughts had.^^tten a 
letter which Mrs Meyrick received the/nett morn- 
ing, begging her to make the revelation instead 
of; waiting for him, not giving the real reason — 
thfi^t he shrank from . going . again through a nar» 
rative in which he eeemied to be .miaJdng himself 
important, and giving himself a character of getneral 
beneficence — but eiaying that he wished ito'^ remain 
with Mordecai while Mrs Meyrick would bring 
Mirah on what was* to be understood' as a visit, so" 
th^t.th^re might be a little interval • before, that 
change of abode which he expected that Mirah 
hersielf would pxtipbse. ' > > . ' • • 

Deronda secretly felt some wondering aimixiety' 
how far Mordeoai, after years of Solitary preocciipa- 
tion ^itih id©ad likely to have become the moreiex- 
cluBive; from, continual diminution of bodily steength, 
wQuld allow him to feel a tender interest in his 
sister over and above the rendering of piaus duties: 
Hi^^^ feeling for the Cohenis, and especially for little 
Jacftb, showed a persistent activity 6f affection ; 
but those pbjects had entered into his daily life 



BOOK VI. ^REVELATIONS. -273 

for yeai* 5 and Deronda felt it notideable thart; Mor- 
decai asked no> new^ qt];e8tioiiB abdiit Mirah, bain- 
taining^ indeed, an tmnsual silence 6n all subjects, 
attid appearing simply to snbmit to the ^dianges that 
were coming over his persoiml life. H^ dbnied 
hisi'&ew clothes ob^ieHtly^ but said afterwards to 
; Deronda, with a faint smjle, " I must keep my old 
gartnents by me for a remembrance.^' And wh»n 
they Were seated, aiwaiting Mirah, he uttered « no 
rword,' keeping his eyelids closed, bit yet showing 
restless ' feeling in hisi face and hands. In fact, 
Mordecai was undergoing that peculiar nervous' per- 
turbation only Mown to thcpde whose mindsj long 
and habitually moving with ^troBg impetijs . in one 
current, are- suddienly compelled into a new or' re- 
.opened dhannel. StLScepitible' people whose strength 
lias been:.k>ng absorbed by a dominant bias dread 
an interview that imperiously revives the past, as 
tKiey' would dread a threatening illness.' Joy may 
be ttheirej but joy^ too, is terrible. ' ' • 

Deronda felt the infection of excitement,' and 
\irhen he heaard the-ri»g. at' the door, 'he went out 
mk hno(Wing exactly *^hy, that he might see' and 
greidt Mirah beforehand. He was ' startled to fitnA 
that dhe had on the* YoA and cloak in which hk 
had first seen- her-4ihe. -memorable cloak 'that hslfl 
once been, wotted ! for. k. winding -sheet. • She had 
coiAe ^ dowh-Istairs equipped in this way, and When 
lAra. Meyrick said, in a tone of questidn, " You hMe 
to go in that dress, dear?" she ansWered, . ^* My 
-broihet is poor, and I want to look as mttcK like 
him as I can, else he > may ffeel' distant fVbm me^ 



• ^4: A DANim ' DERONDA. 

— imagiuing that she should meet him in the work- 
man's dress, . Deronda coiild not make 'any remark, 
but felt secretly mther ashamed ofhis' own fastidi- 
ous arrangements. They shook hands silently; far 
Mirah locked pale and awed. 

. . When Derohda opetned the door for her, Moardeoai 
had risen, and had his eyes turned towards it with 
an eager gaze* Mirah took only two or three steps, 
and then stood stilL They looked at each other, 
inotioiSiless. It was less their own preeence' that 
they jfelt jbhan another's ; they were meeting first 
in memories, compared with which touch was no 
union. Mirah was th^ first to break the silence, 
standing where she was. 

"Ezra," she said, in exactly the same tone: as 
when she. was telling of her mother's call to him. 

Mordecai. with a sudden movement advanced amd 
laid his hands on her shoiilders. He was the head 
taller, and looked down at her tenderly while he 
said, " That was our mother's voice. You remem- 
ber her, calling me?-' 

"Yes, and how you answered her — 'Mother!' 
— nand I knew you loved her." Mirah threw lier 
'aittus round her brother's .neck, olasped her little 
bfcinds behind it, and i drew down hia face, kissing 
:it with childlike lavishness. Her hat fell backward 
,<Sj the ground and dis<?losed all her curls. 
M "Ah, the dear head, the dear head!" said Mor- 
decai, in a, low loving tone, laying his thiii hand 
gtotly ; on the curls, 

;♦' You are ^very ill, Ezra," said Mirah, sadly look- 
ing, at l^im wjth more observjlticmk' 



BOOK VI. — ^RftVlULnONS. 275 

"Yes, dear child, I shall iifOt be long ^th you 
in the body," was the qiiiet answer. 

"Oh, I will love you and we Will talk to «a<3h 
other," said Mirs^, with a sweet outpouTiiig of her 
words, as spontaneous as bird-notes. ^I will tell 
you everything, and you will teach me : — ^you will 
teach me to be a good Jewess — what she would 
have liked me to be. I shall always be with you 
when I am not working. For I work now. I shall 
get money to keep us. Oh, I have had such good 
friends." 

Mirah imtil now had quite forgotten that any one 
was by, but here she turned with the prettiest 
attitude, keeping one hand on her brother's arm 
while she looked at Mrs Meyrick and Der6nda. 
The little mother's happy emotion in witnessing 
this meeting of brother and sister had already won 
her to Mordecai, who seemed to her really to have 
more dignity and refinement than she had felt ob- 
liged to believe in from Deronda's account. 

" See this dear lady ! " said Mirah. " I was a 
stranger, a poor wanderer, and she believed in me, 
and has treated me as a daughter. Please give 
my brother your hand," she added, beseechingly, 
taking Mrs Meyrick's hand and putting it in Mor- 
decai* s, then pressing them both with her own and 
lifting them to her lips. 

" The Eternal Goodness has been with you," 
said Mordecai. " You have helped to fulfil our 
mother's prayer." 

" I think we will go now, shall we ? — and return 
later," said Deronda, laying a gentle pressure on 



276 . . DANIKL DERQND A* 

Mrs Mejrriok's arm, and she imjaediately complied. 
He was afraid of any reference to the facts about 
himself which he had kept back from Mordecai, 
and he felt nd uneasiness how in the thought of 
the brother and sister being alone together. . 



. • I 



277 



CHAPTER XLVIII. 



Tis a hard and iO-pakl task to order all things beforehand by the rule of 
cor own security, as is well hinted by Machiavelli concerning Cees^r Borgia, 
who, aaith he, bad thdught'of all that might occur oti his fkther's death, 
and had provided a^^lnst every evil djtance save only on^ ; it had never 
come into his mind that when his father died, his own death would quiclcly 
tcSkrw. 



Gkandcourt'b importoDce as a subject of this realm 
was of thiB grandly passive kind whioE consists in 
tlie inheritance of land. Political and social move'- 
ments tonched him only through the wire of hi6 
rental, and' his most bare&l biograplker need not 
have read^ tip on Schleswig-Holstein/ tiie policy of 
Bismarck, trade-iinions, hoosehold suffrage, or even 
the last coinmercial panic. He glanced over the 
best newspaper columns on these topics, and his 
views on them can hardly, be said to have wanted 
breadth, since he embraced all Germans, all com- 
mercial men, and all voters liable to use the wrong 
kind of soap, ufader the general epithet of "brutes;" 
but he took no action on these much agitated ques- 
tions beyond loc^ng from under his eyelids at any 
'man who mentioned: them, and retaining a silence 
which served to shake the opinions of timid thinkerd. 
But Ghrandcourt within his own sphere of interest 



278 DANIEL BERONDA. 

showed some of the qualities which have entered 
into triumphal diplomacy of the widest continental 
sort. 

No movement of Gwendolen in relation to Deronda 
escaped him. He would have denied that he was 
jealous ; because jealousy would have implied some 
doubt of his own power to hinder what he had deter- 
mined against. That his wife should have more 
inclination to another man's society than to his own 
would not pain him : what he required was that she 
should be as fully aware as she would have been of a 
locked hand-cuff, that her inclinatioii was helpless to 
decide anything in contradiction with his resolve* 
However much of vacillating whim there might have 
been in his entrance on matrimony, there was no 
vaoillating in his interpretation of the bond. He 
bad not repented of his mandage; it* had really 
brought more of aim into his life, new objects to 
exert his will upon*; and he had not repented of his 
choice. His *taBte (was fii.Btidious, and Gwendolen 
satisfied it: he- would not have liked a wife: who 
had not received some elevation of nmk from him ; 
nor one who did not command admiration by her 
mien and beauty; nor one whose nails were not of 
the right shape ; nor one the lobe of whose ear was 
at all too large and red 5 nor bne who, even if her 
hails and ears were right, was at the same time a 
ninny, unable to make spirited answers ■ These 
requirements may not seem too exacting to r^ned 
contemporaries whote own ability to fall in love has 
been heid in suspense for lack of indiispenBable de- 
tails ; but fewer perhaps may follow him in his con* 



BOOK VI. REVELATIONS. 279 

tentment that his wife should be in a temper which 
would dispose her to fly out if she daarpd, and that 
she should have been ui^d into maarry ing < him by 
ofther feelings than passionate attachmeht. Still, for 
•thope. who prefer command, io lov^, one does not see 
why the habit of (mind should change precisely at 
the poicit of matrimony. . , 

. (Jrandcourtjdid not feel that he had chosen the • 
wrong wife ; and having taken on himself the part 
of husbaad, he was not going in any way to be 
fooled, or allow himself to be seien in a. light that 
could be regarded as pitiable. This was his state 
of mind — not jealousy; still, his behaviour in some 
respects was as like jealousy as yellow i$ to yel- \ 
low, which colour we know may be the effect of very I 
different causes.! ' ' 

BJe had eome^ up to town earlier than uAiAal 
because he. wished to, be on the spot for legal 
consultation as to the arrangements of his will, 
the transference of mortgages, and; that transaction 
witfi his uncle about the 'successibn to Diplow, 
which the, bait of ready money, adroitly dangled 
without importunity^ had finally won him to agree 
u|)on» But another acceptable accompaniment of 
his being in town Was the presentation of himself 
with the beautiful, bride whom he had chosen to 
marry in spite of what other people might haVe 
expected of him. It is true that Grandcourt went 
.ahout with the sense that he d5d not care a languid 
curse for any one^s admiration ; but this state of not- 
caring, just as much as desire, required its related 
object — namely, a world of admiring or envying 



280 ., .DANIEL DEROKDA. 

ispebtators : for if you are fond of booking stoniljr 
at siniling persons^ the pardons mi:tst be, there 4yid 
they • must smile —^ a rudimentary troth -which : lis 
aurely forgotten by those who complain of mankind 
as generally contemptible, since any oth«r/. aspebt 
of the rao^ must- disappoint: the voracity of their 
contempt. Grandcourt, in "town for the first, time 
with his wife, had his non-caring abstinence ' £^om 
curves enlarged and diversified by splendid recep- 
tions, by conspicuous' rideis and drives^ by presen- 
tations of himself with hiftr on all distinguished 
occasions. He wished her to 'be sought after; he 
liked that ^* fellows ■*■ should be es^^er to talk w&h 
her and escort her within his observation • • t)iere 
^as even a kind of loffby coquetry on her part thait 
he would not have objected to. But •'what he did 
mot like were her ways in relation to DerondaL 
II .After the musical party 'at Lady Mallinger's,- when 
Grandoourt had observed the dialogue on the settee 
as keenly as Hans had done, it was characteristfb 
of l^im thati he named Dieronda for invitation aibng 
• with the Mallingers, tenaciously avoiding' the pos- 
sible suggestion to anybody' conceriiigjdf that Derbn- 
ida's pvesenoe or absence could' be of the least iyn- 
portance to him ; and he made nc direct obAervi- 
■tion to Gwendolen on her behaviour that evening, 
les-li the expression of his disgust should be a little 
too strong to satisfy his own pride. But a few days 
afterwiards he remarked, without being carefiil of the 

" Nothing makes a woman more of ' a gawky than 
looking out after people and showing' tempers in 



BOOK VI.— REVBLATIONS. 281 

public. A woman ought . tp hare fin©* minnerft 
Else it's intolerable to appear with her." 

Gwendolen made, the expected application, and 
was not without alarm at 'the notion of being a 
gawky. For she, too, with her melalioholy dis-i 
taste for things, preferred that her distaste shc^uld 
include admirers. But the sense of oVerhatii^ing 
rebuke only intensified the strain of e*p»ecttttioti 
towards any meeting with Derohda; Tfie Aovelty 
and ea^citement erf her town life was lifca'ithe hUrry 
and constant changd of &ceign travel t whatever 
might be . the inwijurd despoxtdenicy, :there was A 
programme to be fiilfiiled,- not without' gi^atifiba- 
tioi^ to many*sided/'sel£ Btit^ as alwiays happens 
with a .deep interest,; the comrparatirely' rare< odeo- 
sions on. which' she; odiild exiohange any* words with 
Deronda had a dil^sire bfibct tinUer con&KiiousBiess, 
magnifying their communioatifon with 6ach other*,' 
and therefor^ enlarging, tholplaceshe imaginidd' it 
to have, in his mind. Howj' could Derandd ' h*6iip 
thiis.? He certainly did not javbid iher; slather : he 
wished to convince h^r ^y every delicat«f 'indjreiot 
meaois .tU$i) h^r. oooifideoce in him had/lnot Ikien 
indiscreet) silioe it had; notJowBred his respect. 
Moreover, he liked being near her — how could it 
b^ otherwise? She. wais something more th^n a 
problem : she was a lovely woman, for the tu*ri of' 
whpsp m^^d and fate he had d. care w^i^y however 
futile.it f»ight be, kept/ soliciting him ab a respongrin 
bility, perhaps all the iSaore that, when he dared to 
think of. his own future,, he saw it lying -fitr away 
firom this splendid sad-hearted cceathse, wha,tei3ause . 
VOL. II. K 



?82 OAKJBL DERONDA: 

he had. once, been impelled to arrest her attention 
momentarily, as he. might have seized her arm with 
warning: to hinder Jier from stepping where th^re 
vas danger, had .turned to him with a beseeching 
persistent need. 

i. One instance in whidi : Grandcourt stimulated ^ 
feeling in Gwendolen- that he would have liked to 
suppress without seeming to care- about it, had re- 
lation, to Mii^h* Gwendolen's inclination lingered 
over jthe project of the singing lessons as a sort of 
obediepioe to Derondat's advice, but day followed day 
i with that want of peoroeived leisure which belongs 
\ to lives; where there is nolwork^to mark off intervals ; 
ai;td the continual liability tb Grandcourt's presence 
aijd surveillance seiemed to flatten every effort to the 
lev-el of the boredom which his- manner expressed: 
his ]»egative mind! was ^as' difiiisiv^ as fog, efinging 
tp all objects, and spoiling all contact. 
;lBut onej morning when they were brciakfasting,- 
Gl[fye>id(ilen, <in a Tecuirreiit fit of determination' to* 
exercise her old spirit, said, dallying prettily over' 
h^TiprawBS. without .eating them — ' ' 

" I thinkr of makiug myself a^xiomplished while' 
w^ are an town, and having singing liessdns.'* '• 
." Why?// .daid.G^andco^^t, languidly; 
J "\Vl\y2i!. echoed Gwendolen, |^aying at sauci- 
riess.; i^beoause I cant e9,t'pdte de Jbie ^ras to 
n^al^e me . sleepy,.. and I <!jan't smbke^ and I Mn't 
go. to the olub to make belike to come away again 
— I WftAt a. variety of ennui. What would be '.the 
most coHvenieiit "time, whetf 'you are busy with 
ypi^r lawyers and people, for me to have le8S(!ms ' 



BOOK VI.-^REVELATIONS. J28S 

from that little Jewefes^ wbode singirig is getting 
Wl the rage?" - ' 

"Whenever yoii: like," 6aid Gmndcoiirt^ pjufthing 
away his plate, and leaning back in his chair While 
he looked at her tvith his most lizard-»like expres- 
sion, and played widi the, ears 6f the tiny' spakiel 
on his lap (Gwendolen lisad taken a (dislike^ to .th^ 
dogs becanse they fawned otif him);: >' ■ .: '" ' 
; Then he said, langiiidly, " I don't s^e. why a lady 
should sing. Amateni's naake fools; of themfeelvesi 
A lady oan't risk-; herself in tharb' way in* comjiany. 
And One doesn't want to hdar sqiialling • in pri^vatieJ^ 

"I like frankness ^ that seems to m^ a husband'id 
great eharm,". said Gwendolen, ; with her little nap* 
ward movement of her chin, as bbetirainfed liir eyes 
away fnom his, and lifting a |)rfcwn before her,. looked 
at the boiled ingeniiougness of itd-eye«s as ^r^ht&hU 
to the lizai^'s. ." Btlt,'' she adcfed, having ■ deroiied 
her mortification, " I suppose you don^t^ object, to 
Miss Lapidoth's singing. at our party: on the* '4th? 
I. thought, of , engaging" her. LWdy'fBi-aoHenfeHaw 
had her, you^ know^ and; the "RaytmondB, who are 
very parl5cular abolit .thehr music. And'MnfDb'* 
onida, wJaois a muadoian hiHaseif, and' a 'firstiirate 
judge, flays that there is no singing in sudh good 
taste as hers /for a drawing - room. I think hi« 
opinion is an authority."- ' !> 

She meant to siing a small stone at her husfeand 
in thait way. / . . . 

f* It's Veuy indeceifflt of Deronda to go about prbis- 
ing that girl," said Qrandcourt, m a' tdne ; of indiffer- 
ence." • . ■•' >.'..:.,.;;;:.; i 



284 DANIEL , DERONDA. 

" Indecent I " exclaimed Gwendolen, reddening 
and looking at him again, overcome by startled 
wonder, and unable to reflect on the probable falsity 
of tbe phrase — ^^ to go about praising.'* 

" Yes ; and especially when she is patronised by 
Lady .Mallingeor; He ought to hold his tongue about 
h4r. Men can see what is his relation to her." 

" Men who judgei of others by themselves," said 
Gwendolen, turning ivhite afbec her rednessy and 
immediately smitten with a dread of her own words. 

"Of course. . And a woman ' should' take their 
judgment — else she is likely to- tuiI' her head into 
the wrong place," said Grandeourt, conscious of 
using pincers on .that white /Ci^ei^ure. . "I suppose 
you take Deronda for^a saint.''! 

** Oh. dear nd ! ^ said Gwendolen, summoning des- 
perately her almost miraculous power of self-control, 
and' speiaking in a high hard tone. "Only a little 
less of a monsterJ* 

She rose, pushed h«r chair away i?irithout hurry^ 
and walked Out of . the joom with something like the 
oace.ofa mtowbo w aftiaid .of showing that he has 
tak^n ttxoie wine than usual. She tuibed the keys 
inside her dressing -room doors, and sat down for 
some time looking as pale and quiet as when she 
was leading the breakfast-room.. Even in the mo- 
ments after reading the poisonous- letter she hf^d 
hardly had more cruel sensations than now ; for 
emotion was at the acute point, whore it is not 
di8tinguisha1;)le frotn seilsatioiEL Deronda unlike 
what she had beUeved him to be, was an image 
which affected her as a hideous apparition would 



BOOK VL-T-^^EyBIATIONS. ^85 

have 4on)e,^uite apart. frpm. the way iu.^Jiioh it wa^ 
produoed -It had (taken hojd of ; l[ie;r as pain before 
she Qouid pon^id/ei:, whether it weir© fiction or truth ; 
ftpd further^ to l^iuder her power, of resiatance came 
thei. sudd^p perception, ho^f^, vQxy slight werq the 
grourwls of then faith ii;», Perx)nfia — )xqy\r liljtle she 
knew, of: hip life — how xh^disb .s}^« Jxad, been., in 
her confidjBnce, iHifij rebi^keif and his seyerity to 
her began to sc^eim Ojdipns, ajlong with all tfce poetry 
apd Lofty doctriive in the world, wh?irf^e;yeF it ijnigiit 
be ; attd the gr^ye beapfty of his,fece peepie.c^ the 
mpst unpleasant , tijiasfc ttet .the , common habits of 
men icould, put .on.. ; , ,,. 

AH this went on ii^ her with the jjapicllty of a 
sick drBai3(i, ; and her start into resistance, was. v.ery 
much lik^ ^ wp^feing. » Suddexily>j&rom out. the grey 
sombre naming there,. pame a pt^eam.pf sunshine, 
wrapping h^r ^';warjr3?Jth -andJightwhe^-e. i^ihe sat 
in . sto3|y ^tillne^s. . Shp apaoyed gently ai^ ' Joojf:ed 
rouaij h^^^-T^.there. was, ^ woi;ld outside. 'this bad 
dream,: aiid ^th©; drciSjim >proye4 noth^gi; she, ros^, 
si??et€bing.iher. arnjB jupwa^d j^nd clasping, her h^ndg 
with her. habitual i attitude, wh^n she was fiQeking 
relief 'from pppres^vp feeling, ^d yy^alted i about 
the roppi ip this flood of jjunbeams. ... 

" Jt i^.not.trijie I . .What dpes jgtj matter .whether, k? 
believes it or not?.** • Thip was what shfB^.^^poatedt^tP 
herself— b^t this was pot her fe,ith come »hack s^gajn ; 
it was only ttj^ desper^^e cry of faith,, fij^dii^g sujfifpca- 
tion intoler^hl^. A^d how xjould shp.go, on througik 
the day in this stete?. .With fpne of h^r impetuo^ 
altematiops, h^x iapagin^^icm, flew to wil4, aotionft 



286 DlmEL DERO!Nt)A:' ' 

by Which 'she would c'driVirice'hetBelf of Whkt she 
wishfeii i felke tsrbmd go' t6' Lady Mal'litigir aiid ques* 
tion heir about" Mifah ;* ' she Wbiild Write to' Dei'onda 
and iipbraid him With'rrialbihg the world all false and 
^cked ^ii(J homeless to h^-^it) him ' she 'dared' ponr 
out all the bitter ifidi^ation'of her heart.' No ; she 
Would go' to MirahV This last form' taken by" her 
lifeed was mbre defini1:eij^ ptactiiable; ttnd ' quickly 
becamie'iih^too'us/ 'N'o'* matter* "What 'fcariiei of it. 
^he bad Ihe '^^eteit' ' of asking Mirah to sing at 
h'et ^^rty "bn tte 4th. -What Was sh-^ going- to 
feay besidels? How skisfy herself?' Sh^e: did not 
foresee — she could not wait to fbres^ej If fhat 
idea which was maddenihg her had'b^en a Irving 
thing, sTie wbiil'd have wanted to 'throttle* 'it' with- 
(Slit waiting ' to ' fore^^W What Would 'd6m!e'' of th^ 
act. She 'rang her bell'' and a^ked if Mr Gfaiid- 
court Werfe 'gone out : firidife^ thkt 'he Vafi, she 
ordered 'the carriage, and 'began- t^ dress .for the 
drive ; theti sh6 Went down; and walked kbout 
the large drawing'- rooifi like an'imprisbtied- dtinib 
fereaturfe, not V^oognisiii^ herself iti the giass paneis, 
hot noting any object around htr ih' tte paiiited 
gild'ed iiri(«)U. ■ Her hiisband would pr^aBly fibd 
out where she had teen, lanci' ptirilirtli H^r'iti sofible 
Way or 6ther— hb matter — ^fehe' could heitfcei* desire 
hor fear anything just rioW but the! ' assurance that 
she had ii6t been deludiiig herself 'in her trust. 

She wfes' provided vnth Mifah's ' ^Aress: Sooii 
siiie' was on 'the w^y with' all' the isli^l equipage 
n^cessaa^ t6 can-y abo^t her |k)or utieaigy hearty 
depending in its pAlpftatioiiB ofn sottie answer or 



BOOK VI.-^REVKLATIONS. 287 

other t6 : que»tioning' which ' she did not fcnow how 
ah© . should pnt. -She was as heedless of whut 
happened befoxd she fouiid that Miss Lapidoth was 
at home, as ODe is of lobbies 'and pai^sa^ges 'on the 
way to a court of jnWtioe^-^lieedlesK of evei^ydiing 
till she was in ^ ro^iA where there Wete folditg- 
doorfe, and i^he; heard Derbnda's voice behind it; 
Doiibtless the' identification was helped by forecast, 
but she was as certain of it asi i^ fiiie had '&^n ^him. 
She Wsts frightened at her own'a^itirtioh, Ated began 
to unbutton her gloves that ^he might 'button 
them again, and bite ^ her lips oT0r the* ;{)tet^nded 
difficulty, while the door opened, and ' Mirah pre- 
sented 'herself' with' perfect} quifetude -^and a sweet 
stftile of recognition. • Theife Was tfeliefin the 
sight of h^r' iace, atid Gwendolen! was a;bl6 to 
smile in return^ while she- put out' her hand in 
silende ; and as sh^e^ sfeated: herself, WU the "While 
hearing the voice, fehe :felt some reftnx' of energy 
in the tionfused -senfee that the' truth oonlil not" be 
anything t^at sh'^ ^Ireadefl. Mirah drew her chair 
very near, as if she felt that the sound of the Gon-» 
versatiOto' «bould' be "Subdued,' aAd looked at' her 
visitor with placfid • • expectation, white Gwendolen 
began in a; loW tonej with some^ingnthdti- seamed 
like bashfulneiqs^^' -it. . n , " 

" Perhaps you wonder to see me — perhaps I ought 
to hare wri(?t^ — but I 'wished i6 inake a particular 
request."-' ■ .*■''•'•• ..'''f ! -'■.,•■ y. ••■'.\ ,■ :'.■', 

"I am glad to S6^ you ^ instead of having aikttei^^' 
said Mirah, wonderimgat the cha»gid."eipre6sion 
and manner of the "Vandyke driclidss," as Ha»$ 



288 DANIEL DERQNDA; 

liad taught her to call Grwendolen. The rich 
colour ftnd the calmnegs^ of her . own face were 
in sttong contrast with the pale agitated beauty 
under the plumed hat, , 

"I thought," Gwendolen went on— "at least, I 
hoped you would not object to sing at,. our house 
on the 4th^-in. the. evening — ^at a party ilike Lady 
Brackensh^wfs. , I sliQuld be so mujch ipbliged," 

" I shall b^. very happy to sing for you, M ten ? '* 
said Mirah, iwhile Gwendol^ spumed, to; get mote 
instead of less embarraHBed 

"At t^n, -please," she aUsw^jied ; ..then, paused, 
and felt that ^he had nothing. more to say. She 
could npt go. It was impossibte 4^0' rise and say 
good-bye, Deronda's voice Was in h/Br. ears. She 
must say it-rshe could contriv-e no Qjther fienteno<^~^ 

"Mr.Peronda is in the nextrOom," .1 

" Yes," snid Mirah, in her fonqer totie* •" He is 
reading Hebrew with my barothl^." 

" You have a brother ? *^ said .Crw>eiidolen, who had 
heard this from Lady Mallinger; bu,t had not jjriinded 
it then.^ . , . , 

"Yes, a dear brother,; who is ill ^-^consumptive, 
and Mr Deronda is the best of friends to him, as he 
has been to me," said Mirah, with th^ impulse that 
will not let us pass the mention of a pr^ious person 
indifferently. . 

" Tell me," Boid Gwendolen, putting her hand on 
Mirah' s, and speaking hardly above a whisper— "tell 
me^— tell me tlie truth. You are sure he is quite 
good. You;. know no evil of him. Any evil that 
people say o£: him i« MbqJ! 



BOO^ VI.-^HEVELJITIONS. 289 

Could the prbttd^spirited wom»;n havb behaved 
more Kkea o^iiM?' But the strangt^- words pe^nie* 
trated Hindi Inth i^hing bat a Berase rof solemnity 
and iidigBiarifon. : With la sudden Bghij in 'hei* eyes 
andatre«n<^tib her voice, she said — ' 

"Who'a:te fh^ peoplei : that' say evilof him? I 
would not ' belie vfe any evil of him, if an angel eam^ 
to tell it me!. He found too when 1' was so miserable 
^— I was going to drown mjrself^— I Ibttked m poor 
and ftttT9«A?en-^yott wodkJ' hwve thought I'waS'a 
beggar by the wayside. And he treated me as if 
I had been'aldikg's dan^htfer/ fle:itook me' to the 
best of women; He found'tny brother -for me. And 
he honours toy *brothei?Hhthough he too * was poor — 
oh, almost ias" poor "as he conld»bb; A'nd toy brotheit 
hotionrTS him. ^at is 'no light thing *o «ay " — hBre 
Mikiah'S tone ijhanged to owe of protid'emphaisi^ And 
she shook her head backward— ■* for my btother is 
very learned ktid great^ttinded. 'And Mf'Der6uda 
Says there aife few men eq^ttal tct himv' S6me Jew- 
ish defiance hadflktoed ioto hei^ 'indignant gmtitude, 
and hef anger 'OOtlld nOthelpfEdckidihg'GrWendolen, 
sihce she -seemefl *o have dJt^ubted Deronda% good- 
ness. • ■* ' "' ••'■ ■ ■' ■■' -^ ' 

But Gwendolen was like one' pardhed With thirst, 
drinking the fresh water that spresKis- through the 
fr^me as A sufficient bli^s. She did not ii(ytice that 
Mirah was angry With her; she 'Was not '(distinctly 
conscious of anything but oiT the pehetrating sense 
that DiBronda and his life were no more like her 
husband's conception thaii the itiorhing in the h<!»ri- 
zon Was like the morning mixed with street gas : 



890 ' ©AZflEL . i[)ERaNDAi.< - 

even. iMirah'a ( Ifvords: B^emed i to ijaeltf . into the aiidef- 
initenesft , o£ ImTi . x^Jief. '■ ' She 1 cohW i jlaardly hAvoi 're- 
peated them, or :said how her wholei stafce <j>fi' feeliag 
was oha-tigi^di Shei pressed Mitch's, haind^ aiidt sfeid, 
"Thank yon, thank you," in /a huwediwhispecrr-r 
the^ rose, and- added, with- only 8^ ha«y. coHsclions- 
m^f^, YI mnBt go, I shall see you-r~0n i tjie 4th — rl 
atn. so mnqh obliged"— bp^ingt herself;, out amto*- 
iftatioally ; .while Mirah, openinjg^the door for her, 
wondered .at what seem^ a* sudden retreat into 
ohill loftiness, i, ! i . > , / • . • .. 

. Gwendolen, indeed^! had- :ia<). feeling to.apai:© iii 
Uny. effusiveness: '.towards iftho .cteatnre; who had 
brought .her. relief. Thfe» p^sioaate need of fcon* 
tradiction, . :t(t> Grandcdurt's. estimate^ of ,I>eronda, a 
need whieh had Wunte(J her. seiQrtbility ito. every* 
thing ials^,,was' no sooner; satjelfied. thaj*.^ wanted 
to be gone : she. began to be aW£^re that/ihe was out 
of plaoe^ add to: dread D^r/onda's Seeing hear.. And 
ono0. in- the cg^rridge ^«in, she had . the vision of 
wh*t awaited her at homei. '• When, sho, drew Up 
before the; door m <Sro;$venori Square,, her husbaijid 
was arriving iwith a cigar between 'his, fingers. He 
threw it away and handed her out, accompanying 
her up-^tairs*. She turned into the drawing-room, 
Iqst he.,shoul4 follow : her farther aud give her nO 
place to retreat to ; then sat; down with a weary ;^ir, 
taking pff he** gloves, rubbiug' her.hand overi.hor 
forehead, and .making his. presence £vs much" of a 
cipher as. possible. But he pat, too, and not far 
from her— rjust in front, where to avoid looking at 
liiip must have the emphasis of effort. 



.".JHa,yJ ^^. where yan-h^w.|3eep,.f?t,itfe]^ 0?.t.ra- 

.".Phyes; IiliQrT^' be0^It9l,MisQ tapifiotKs t<;>,a8k 
h^r ta.oome, auci ^iiig.i&nr us>" ^aidt Gw^iadplep, lay- 
ing Uw gJovQ* <I«a.!the liirtt}e>taWe^.,bpwJjq;heiri^and 
looking . I do^tt. at tUem. • • « .i i / . f.- 

. "And to ft»k./her.aj^ut(heE rations; with JQfir-? 
<)«dit?":'8ftid ,CrijandQQui:t^ with tb« wld^^-pO^BiW^ 

fear w^ diftboljcat ;. . -/ ,..;. rn.-.i!: v/ .i ' '.«.•! 

For the fil^t{.t}m^.^i^^ .th0ir' j;a<ap^»t^be ifla^hed 
out. upon hip(i tvirt^^nt inward. qhciQfc^t Xw^iiEig/ Ver 
ey0s full qn hiei.gJiQisaid,.!^^ bitiif ig. .to]fte--i ..,;,,: 

,. ."Yes ; a^d ^halj you ^dis,; fai^J^t— t9«.1q^, ^vick^d 
fidsfihqodK"/.. '. I :,...■ •! .. .•■.') ')•:,// ,.• m!/--i 

f^She .told;, you .^o-r-did she ? " Te;t>^med; Qmnd.- 
cQnrt, wjth.aiuprei.thQi^pugyy distiJ,lQ4 WP^r. . . 

h^;\^aei.turped,.i^tq.,th^,,y?igf of, dupihnei^., .^YJi^t^ 
reasons . foz heof belief .Q^uld . ,eh^ . giv^ 2 ; AU . ; ti^^. 
re^i^ons: , ;that . , pepiȤ<i . jaO; ist^ong , ?,nf^ HyW^ . witjhi^, 
her— ;9he a^wijthenjir ,^i||fii|pftted,.a^ JsJtiriyj^Jl^d up. 
under her h^sl^iand's, b^^iath^ !Ihe^p w^b^. no .prpof 
^ give, bi^t hw.owu ijqprjessj^n, ,vhi<?l^, :yv'9ii14. e^ejpa 
tp hini her qw» foUy^ ,She turn/^ Ij^r . fe^a^, .quickly! 
a^ay frpfl^; hjm t^nd,. Jjopbed angrily tpy^4s ti^e ,endj 
9f the,rQ<p(ia :. sl^^ i^ould i ha|Ve. ri9eR,,.b|^j^r.he /\jr?cs in^ 
her way. , 

.,, Gr^jidcourt. saw i>i8:afiv3.ntagQ. • ^^.It'a.Qf no pQn- 
sequence.ao.^arja^ her 8iiugi?^g,ig9!BS,'wh6,«a}d,;in his, 
ft^perfipial?4;*aisFl. > ^; Ygjq, ca.^- feave Jier,,t9 etiug, ,if 
yoU' )ike,r , Theia,. aft^r^, panfi>e„.h(^ ^dd^d^iu W;^ 



292 DANIEL l)EROm)Ai 

lowest imperious totie, "But yoti will pleaere to 
observe that you are Btot ta go near that h^afiie 
again. As my wife, yoti ' mtist' take niy word about 
what is proper for you. When you undertook to 
be Mrs Gra'ndcourt, you mideitoOk "not to make a 
fool of yourself. You have been making' a fool ot 
yourself this morning ; and if yOu w«re to go on as 
you have begun, jrou might 'ftdon get ^oiirself talked 
of at the dubs in a Way joti wduld adt like.' What 
do r/ou know about the world? You have married 
me, and must be guided by triy opinion." ' • 

Every slow seiitetice of that fepieedh had tt terrific 
mastery in i* for Gwendolen's nature. If the low 
liones had cbnie fixMn a physioiaa telliti^ her that her 
symptoms were those of a fatal disease, and prog- 
nosticating its course!, she conld Yiot haV^ been 
more helpless Against the argument ' that lay in it. 
Bilt she was permitted to move nov^, fend hier- hus- 
band nev^r again made any i»efer^nce 'to what had 
ooourried this morning. He knew thej force of his 
oWn word*. If this- white-handed' tnari' with the 
perpendicnilar profile had been sent to govern a 
difficult 6olony, he might hi.ve won reptitation among 
his Contemporaries. He had certainly ability, would 
have uhderstood that it was safer to exterminate 
than to cdjdlfe superseded proprietors; atld would 
not have 'flinched from making things* sa^ in that 
way. 

(^encToleti did not, for all this, part with Her 
recovered faith; — ^rather, she kept' it' With a more 
anxious tenacity, as a Protestant of old kept his 
Bible hidd(^n or w €athol!c his ortioifix, according 



BOOK n.-^ltEVELATlONS. S'&S 

to. the sidiB £ftTOcured by the civil arm; and it ««rfts 
chardcteristio oi her tfaivt apart from ib^ imptesfelion 
gained . conoernimg Deoronda in that visit, her im- 
agiiiatiob Was little oc<>U{)ied with Mirah or th« 
eulogised brother. The one Tesult- established for 
her was, that Deranda had acted simply m a gen- 
erdtiB benefactor, and the phrase ^ reading Hebrew " 
had flteeted unimpresBively across her sens>e of heart- 
ing, as a stray stork might have made fts'pecaliaY' 
flight across her landscape without rousing any 'suti 
ptised reflection^ on its natural hitst^ry. 

But the issue of tiiat visit, i^ it regarded \mt 
husbandy t6ok a strongly active part ib the procesi 
which made an habitual conflict within heif, and 
was the cause bf some extenial change perhaps 
not observed by anyone' except Derotida: As : the 
weeks went on bringing > occasional tranisient inter- 
vidwB with her, he thought- that he perceived in het 
an intensifyiaig of her superficial *h«lrdne8s tvnd res<L 
olute display, which made her abrupt betrayals of 
agitation the more marked and (disturbing' to him. 

In . fact, she was undergoing a sort of discipline 
far the refractory which, as little as possible like 
conversion, bends half the self with a terrible strain, 
andieicasperates the unwillingness of: th« other half. 
Grando6urt liad an active divination rather than 
diBcemment of refractoriness in her, and what had 
happened about Miiah quickened his suspicion that 
liiere was an increase of it dependent on^ the occa- 
sions when she hapipened to see Deronda :• there was 
some *^ confounded nonsense " between tiiem : h^^ did 
not imagine it exactly as- -flirtatibn, and- his iinagi'Aa- 



2^4 DANIEL DERONDAi. • i 

tiqB iin ' other i bralfcohes Waa raibher< » restritoted j ! 'but 
it waS' nonseose that evidently kept up a kind of 
siiiiinering in her mind-— an inward action whiql^ 
might b^QQJco'e dieagreeably outward. > . Husbands in 
th.e pid time are known* to ' have BUffei-ed frpm. a 
threatening ,devoT3.tness : in! tbedr wives^; priesenting 
itself ;fit$t indistinctly as oddity, and ending in that 
miWi form, of ilunatici asylum, a nunneiy: (S^r^lndi- 
<50ia«t. had .$. ^gue perCepdion of threatening moods 
in G^^endplen which ! the ;unity between them in 
his views of .maraaiagfe required- him peremptorily 
to. chen^k. Among the .mieabs he ohoee, 'one ^^as 
peculiar,. jand: was lead ably oalculatbd than th6 
^peeche^ we have just heiard* , . ' .' 

He determined < that she should know the main 
piUrpc^ pf the will: he/ was making, but he could 
not ,communi.<?ate,.thisi. himself, because it invoHved 
ijh^ fa<5t of his xelation to Mrs Ghbsker and .-.her 
ohildrein; and- thiat there should be aaky^ov*!* re* 
pognitiou; of this : between' Gwetidolen and himself 
W9,^• supremely relpu^aarit to him. Like. all proud, 
closely-Wrapped naturesy he shrank from , explibit- 
nesiB and detail, even on triyialities^i if they werd 
personal: a valet must maintain 4i. siiriet reserve 
with him on. the subject, of shoes aitui stockings. 
And clashing I was intolerable to him.:, his habitual 
Wiatt was to put collision out of the question by the 
quiet massive pressure of, his rni^. iBurfc he, wished 
Gwendolen , to kbow tharfi before he made her ati 
off^rit.lwas ..DO. secret to, him that she was aware 
of his relatiopsi with Lydia^ her previous knowledge 
being, the apblogy for bitinging the object before 



BOOK :VL7t-i-KEYH/AfllONS. 205 

iber now. : Some* men 'iDf^his'plabe' might hdve 
tiiDUght o£ , writing' whttt .he • wanted • 'her • to* . knoWj 
in the forta of a letter. But GrandcouH hatet} 
writing: evten writing a note: was a ibor^' to hirn, 
and: he had lohg beeh aQciiBt<!>med to haVe all ''•his 
writing doine' by Lnsh. r, We : ka6w: that- • there- . «Te 
peorsons who will ^rego their bwhobviouB initereiti 
tath^ than do apyihin^ sd dieagreeiabl^ iasto writei 
letters^ and it is* n6tprobalileithiit thes^'impierfec^l 
utiUtarianB wouldi meh' into mannscript I and syiirlaK^ 
an a diffieialt snbject in oardeir to sare' ariother^s fefel*. 
ings. . To Graridcoart it 'did not even 'Occhr tbdi 
he sho^d, wonld^ 'Or .could i?Wte'to Gwendolen the^ 
informatidn in -question; a»d the only tt|edini|i' of 
oommnnication he oould use was Lush^ whoi, to hi^ 
mind, was as ininoh-of an • implement as pen'4nd! 
^pef: ^But here too 'Grandcourt* had hisi reserve*^ 
and wonld not ha've uttered a wofrd • Htely to enM 
coiirage Lush in an- impudent sympathy with' any. 
supjiosed grievance in; a marriage whidi had bieJ^tt 
discommended by hiaki. 'Who that has a confiflant 
esoapesr believing* too little in- his penetration, and 
too much in h^ disciietion? -Grandcourt had alwayd 
allowed Lnsh to know hid external 'affaii<fi( iiidiserim- 
iikately, irregularities, debts, want of ready money 5 
he had only used disorimination about what' he 
would allow his confi<Jant to say to him ; and he had' 
been so accustomed to this human tool, that' the 
having him at <5all in London was a recovery of lost 
easoi It followed : that Liteh . kixew all the provisions 
of the will more exactly than they were kinown'to 
the testator himself ..)'/'' 



306 ' DANIEL DERONDA. 

GrandooTart did ■. not ' donabt that G-wendoleti, sinod 
she M^ae . a , infoman ' who <fcotild piit two ahd two t^ 
getliier,:kiiew or suspected Lush to be the bontriver 
of ker interview with Lydia, and- that this was the 
reas6n whyi h^er fiufffc request was for 'his banishM 
ment. Bolt the' bent, (jf a T^-oman's' infeorenceft on 
naixed JBubjects which excite mixed passions is not 
determined by h^er capacity for simple addition^' and 
herfe Graindcourt lackcid the only organ of; thinking 
that cotild have saved, him firom ibistakG*+^naii?iely^ 
B\)VOLe es)pienence of* the mixed passion^ comemed. 
He had correctly divinied one half : of Gwendolen's 
drtejad-r-all that related to :her pei^sonal prade>' and 
her [perception that his will mnst conquer hers ; but 
the remorseful half, .even if! he had known ;of her 
biTpken promise^ was as much out>of >hiB imagination 
as the other side of th^ moon. - What he believjecl 
her to feel abo«t .Lydia. was solely a tongue -tJied 
jeftlousy, and what he :believed- Lydia to have written 
with! thci jewels wa^ the fact thiat she had once been: 
used to wearing them, with olhJdt amenities such a» 
he imputed to the intercourse . of jealotis women. 
He had the rtriiumphant certaintiy- Aat be; could 
aggravate thia. jealousy and ytet smite it with a more 
absolute dumbness. His object was to engage all 
hi^ wife's egoism on the siFime side as his own, and 
in his employment of Ijush he did not intend an 
insult to her: she ought to understand that he 
wad the only possible envoy^ Grandcourt's view of 
things was . eoribiderably fenced in by his general 
seffise, that what sfciited'him, others- must put up 
with. There is no escaping the fact that want of 



BOOK VI.-*— REVELATIONS. 297 

sympsthy coAde«nii» ub to a 'corresponding stupidity. 
Me{>histapk8lee liitown upon reial lifS) and obliged 
to * manage iiis own plots, would inevitably makfe 
blnndere. ! 

One mominf^ he w^it to Gwendoleh in the bon- 
doir beyond the ^ back draivring-room, hat and gloves 
in handy • and said wiiih his be»t - tempered, most 
p6rsiiiau9iv«e' drawl^' standing before her and looking 
down on /her ab she sat \Hth a book on h^er lap-* 

« -^ 1.^ G^endolen^ there's . some : business about 
property ':to be explained* I have told Lush to 
come and explain it . to yow. He knows all about 
these things. I am going out. He can oome up 
ndw* He'a* the only person' who can explain. I 
suppose Voa'il not mind.*^ 

*^ You know that I do toind/* said Gwendolen, 
angrily^ starting up. "I shall not see him.*' She 
dhowed the ^tentionito (dart away to the. door. 
Grandcourt was before her, with his back towards 
it. He wc^ prepared for her anger, and showed 
none in return, saying, with the same sort of re* 
mdnstrant tone that he might have used about an 
objection to dining out— ^ . ' 

"It's no use making a fiiss. There are plenty of 
brutes in the world that one has to talk to. People 
with aiay savoir vivre don't make a fuss about such 
things. Some business must be done. You don't 
expect agreeable people to do il If I employ 
Lush, the proper thing for you is to take it as a 
matt^ of course. Not to make a fuss about it. 
Not to toss your head and bite your lips about 
people ■ of that sort." 



^^S DANIEL: DERONDAi - 

The jdrawliug and. the pauses with, which t this 
Speech was uttered gave time for wdwd^ng reflec- 
tibns in. Grwendoleiij quelling her re^siknoet What 
was there to be told her about property?: ' Thife 
word hfifcd certain' doimtiant .aesociationsfor iher, 'iirst 
.with her mother^; then uwith Mrs ' G^liugher and her 
children- . What would hie the- use if Ah© reftised to 
^ee Lush? Gould she' qsk Grandc0urti> t© itell hey 
himself ? That might be intolerabley ' dven if / he 
donsented^ which it was certain hfe Would 'not,/ if' he 
had mafle up hisiiiind to^the cantrary. < The .h'^|mi^ 
liatibn of standing an, obviofu^ prisoner, - with t her 
husband- barring! theidooy, was mot ^to be boime any 
longer, and she > turned away- to lean 'Sigainsti a cabi^ 
net, while Grandcourt again moved toi^^ards her*) t 

**I.have arranged ' with Lilsh td ooone up Aiow, 
while I ani out," he 'said, after a long organ stop, 
during which Gwendoleba made • no > sign; . " Bhall 1 1 
tell hnn he may come?" , . ^ • 

. Yet another pause before! she could say^^ Yes "-r-t 
her face turned. obliquely and her ©yea; oast downr 

"I. shall oome back' in time toi xide^. if you like 
to get ready," said Grandcourt. N.o answerji ^^»She 
is in a ^'esperate rage," thought heu But.. the 'rage 
was silent, atidt therefore not ' disagreeaJble' to him; 
lib followed that he turned her chin and kissed her, 
while she still kept her eyelids down,, and she did 
not move them .untii he wAs. on the other side of 
the. door. ■ . 

"What was she to do? Search where she would 
in her consciousness; she found nooplea to justify 
a plaint. Any romantic illusions she: had had in 



BOOK ' VL^t-REVILATIONS. 399 

maTTying fliis man had turried on her poster of 
using him a,s' she liked. He was u^i^gJ|^l: as h^ 

SbB sat awaifciiig the ' announcemeot of Lnnh as a 
sort of searing operation thai she had to gb thtongh^ 
The facts that galAed hergathei^ed a biirning pow^;? 
when sh6 thought of, their lying in. hie 'mind,. It 
was alltafpart of that! 'new gambling in which tha 
losing" wfas not simply a, 'Minusy ihiit f^ terrible jp/t^ 
that' had^niever centered iiubo her reeko»ii^. 
. Lush , was neither . quile^. pleased nor ; quit^, : dis- 
^leaaedwith his task. Grtodoofurt had said to him 
by way of eonolusion, "Don't imake. yonnlelf moi'M 
disa^eeable than nature obliges y<t>u.". c-i ,:. i , 

"That depends," thought Lwab; Btit.hle -saij^ 
*f I. will •write .a brief abatiact for.!Mrai'(Sra^doourt 
to readt" iHe did not suggest that he shofuld maikfe 
lihe. whole tomnranioation in widting^ whiob Waa.is^ 
{»r6bf th£^:the interview did not wholly di«pl^a^^ hii^^^ 

&am^ provision was being mad^ for. himself in ,th^ 
will,:and.he had no reasoii to be in a' bad hunjo^r, 
even >if a bad humour had been oommoiiL with bim« 
Ele.wits peilbctJIy convinced that he. had pQpetrf|,ted 
all. the secrets. of the situation ;,i)Tit he had no dia- 
bolic delight in it. He had only, the small move- 
fiDetvts ' of gratified '. self- loving re^ntipent in dis- 
cerning that this marriage fulfilled his own.forepiglit 
in not-being 'as satiifawijtory as ithQrsmpqrcflious 
youBg lady had. expected it to,; be, aind aft Orandr 
oourt wiiihed toi feign that it was. . f Me had np 
persistent spite much stronger than whatj giv^a.the 
deasoning bf Ordinary, scandal i to. th^se who. repeat 



300 DANIEL DERONDA. T 

it a;nd exaggerate it by their conjectures. With no 
active compasBion or goodwill, he had just as little 
active malevolence, being chiefly occupied in liking 
his particular pleasures, and not disliking anything 
but what hindered those pleasures — everything else 
rankiHig with the last murder and the last opera 
huffoLy under the head of things to; talk about. 
Nevertheless, he was not indififetent' to the jirospect 
of being treated Uncivilly • by a beanti&il woman^ 
or to the counter -balancing &b0t that insl preseat 
commission put into his hapds aUrofficnal power of 
humiliating herl He did not mean to use it need- 
lessly; but there are sbme peraons so ^ gifted in 
relation to us thi^t their ^^ How do y6u do?*' seems 
charged with oJffenoe. 

By the time that Mr Lush was annoiinced, Gwen- 
dolen had braced herself to a bitter resolve tbati he 
should not witness the slightest betrayal of her feel- 
ing, whatever he might have to tell. She invited 
him to sit down with stately quietude. After all, 
what Was this man to her? . He was nob in. the 
least like' her husband. Her pow^r of hating /a 
coarse, familiar -mannered man, with chraisy hands, 
was now relaiced by the intensity with which she 
hated his conttust. 

He held a small paper folded in bis han<l while 
he spoke. 

" I need hardly say that I should not have pre- 
sented myself if Mr ■ Grandcourt had not! expressed 
a strong wish to that eifect — -as no doubt he has 
mentioned to you.*' i\ 

From some voices that speech miight have soundr 



BOOK? VL-^-HEVBLATIONS. 301 

^ entirely rererentialy and ereh tiniidl|' apologetic^ 
Jjutk. had no intention to tbe contrary^ but to Gwen- 
dolen's ear Hi0 wbi-dis had as much insolence in them 
as his prominent eyes, aid the pitonoun "you" was 
too &ii[iiliair. He ought to have addressed the folding- 
scareen, :8nd spoken of her as MrsGrandcourt. Sha 
gave the scaaUest' sign of a bow, and Lush went ony 
with a Mttl&<a(wkwazdi)ie8s, getting entangled in what 
is elegairtiy «»lkd tautology. • . 
' ^^M^ hawing been in Mr Grandcouit's confidence* for 
fifteen years or more — since he was a. youth, in fact 
— of «)oupie .gives nue a peouiiar position. He can 
speak tb^mie of Jkffifiars that he could not menti6n to 
any ^one' else; c^ad, in. fact, he jcould not have em-* 
ployed Any one eke in tiiis aflfe.iri I have accepted 
the/tarifc(iut of .fin[endbhip> forhiin. Which is my 
apblogy.for Acoej^ting the task— if you would luave 
preferred some .one else." . 

He. paused, but) shei made no sign, and .Lush, to 
give .himself a eouDtenance^ in an apology whioh met 
no acbeptanoej opened the folded paper, and looked 
ftt-U Vj^uely before ;he began to speak again. , 

"/ This. |)apet oontains same information about Mr 
Offandoowrfsiwill/an abstrocfcof a pa«?t he wished 
you to .know— if yonll be good enough to cast your 
eyes over it : But there is something I had tidsay 
by wa^ of introduotion-r-which I Ijiope you^U pardon 
me jfor, ; if, if s pot quite agreeablei.,'? Lusbj found that 
he wab behaving better than he had expected, and 
had jskoidela bow:inisttltiug he ma^e himself with his 
" noi qia^^ agteeeible/' 

^^Say-wihaA you hfcve to say without apologising, 



$02 . : DANIEL IDERONDA. 

please," said i ' Gwendolen^' wiljh the . air- 1 she migM) 
hare • bestowed on a > do^4 stealer i oome< to ' claiiiia . ai 
reward' for fiiiding- the.do^; he had/stolfenj; . r.' f , > ' 
*/'I have* only: to, reiniilwi you <&ft:soiriethiifg that; 
ooGurred before your en^geinent t6 Mr .Gflffilnd*r 
coutt,".- said Lushy riot - without \thk> fisfe of isome 
willing' insolence in .exchanges for herlk»m.'ii:^^ YqiI' 
ihet'a lady in. Gardell Ghase, ifiyou t*eoEiei!ab^r^ Tirh» 
spoke to you of her position. withl;ir©gel]rdd;to»iMij 
Gi^andcourt; She- had diildrehiiwitib hejiti-'dAe' a 
^ry fine boyJ! ■-. ' -i; • • -ii. .-:■.•>,'_ h-j'.:! ! 

11 Gwbndolen's lipsj.:ir«re; almost as ..paieftas "her 
cheefcs: ben padsioa^had ino : weaipofi»^-M«rords Mem. 
no better' thaa chips. .> This man's • speech! was : like a 
shai^ knife-edge drawn across het- skin ;.fbiii1I; even 
her iiidigniation .at the emplbjrnietili' of 'Lu^h iwaia 
getting merged iiii a crowd of«btljer feelitig8j"liii{a 
and alarming as a crowd of -ghosts, .r ' <• = .; 
: "Mr 'GTandcouFt was^ awarelthat jFoutnw^erei 'ac- 
quainted with this unfortunate af&dr befoiehand, anc^ 
he tblnis it only right that his posftiom^ati^'Miten* 
tions should' he B5iade quite clear to j^oi- iJtift an 
affaii? of property and prospeofea-; and if tJieiTe'lwere 
an;^ objeotioin yan'ihad to make, if you wonaid: mem- 
tioix it to' mer-^it is 'a subject 'whidh o^^coursfe' he 
would rather ;ndt speak about hiikiself-^if; you wijl 
be good enough just to read ■ this/?' • With> the last 
words Lush rose and presentedJ<iie» paper* to Aeiwi 
When Gwendolen resolved that! shei wcteild betray 
no feeling' in the presence <!>f this* man} shfe: bad toot 
prepared herself to hear that hei' 'husband fcffijevt"the 
silent consciousness) the silently accepted' terms* on 



BOOK vi^-HatEyj[:i4ATioNs. ?03 

Mnidd .ri:ie • haidi mf^riied hiipi She dared : aot t raise 
her ha<id 'toi [Iake4he pa|ierv.iLest:.it should ivisib]^ 
treinbl©. Fjor ; a . moment . Jjueh f stood holdingi it to- 
'imcA» hej^aad^she'felt hisg^e on her as ighomiioijfj 
befoi?eiifithd^ o^uld.s^ ei?«fi with' lolvHtcmed hitughtii 

ness — .'■•■ '•,'■:■' •>!'. ' i- :,•'.'■ :i:l •!••■.! 

• i^^Lay- it:Onr ftiiei -tafeleJ ^Ajpd: go into the ^jaext 
room^ipkiaseJ' . '■•••;.. •." ■' ■< ' ' : i' ■' .- . ■ ^ j 
Liishi'obeyed, thiiikii]^»ais he i took an ieasy^chaii 
in: . the badk. . ■ drawing "jfoonij ■ •** My . lady wiileeiB • oon-» 
siderabiyj • 'She didn^t know: what would b©/ the 
eharge for; thaib aaperfine article^ HenMgh Giraaui- 
court.'^ But it Beem«d io him that a p^nnilega gili 
had done . betber than she had ^ahy. right! to ' esi^ect, 
awd'4hatiflhe:had be€» uncpmrnobly fccio Wing for her 
years : iaoE : oppoEtmiities : her wordi tol Lydia mebnt 
hotluing', kadiher runnirig . away had 'probably been 
pairt of hef' adroitnees./ It had turned but a' master-t 
s*rpke.! '■•',.•.• ^ .■ :. . ■ ■ .f ■' ■'•■ 

■ ! Meanwhile Gwendolfeai wa-s' rallying her ner^vjes* to 
the i-eading of the paper* She must read i*. 'Heit 
whole bein^^--pride, ion^g for rebellion, dfesHns df 
freedom, remorseful conscience, di^tid of fresh tisita^ 
tion— nail 'made bne n^ed to • know what lihe paper 
oontained. • But at first it was not easy to tafc6 in' 
the meaning of the words. When she had succeed-' 
ed, 'she 'found that in the cai^e of there being 'no son* 
a» iesue ^' lier marriage, Grandcourt had made the 
small Henleiigh his heir-,^that was alb she «ared.to 
dife^iot fr^m the pttper with any distinotness; ■ ' The- 
other statements as- to- whai ' protisioti ^ould' be 
made 'for her in thie same case^she 'hTirriefi' 6ve!r, 



304 DANIEL BERONDA!.* • 

getting only a confiised' perception of thbusaods and 
G^tdsmere^ It was enou^. She oodld diimisb the 
man in the next r6om' with the defiant 'ieniBrgy:\i"hich 
had revived in her at the idea that thi» qneitJ4>n of 
proiperty and inheritance was meant- ai» a finish to 
her humiliations and her thraldom. 

She thrust the paper bet^^en the kaVes of her 
book, which she took in her hand, and waiMad with 
her stateliest air into the next room,' ;where Lush 
immediately rose, awaiting her appiroach^ When 
sl^e was four yards from Him, it was hardly an inn 
sltavnt that she J[)aused : to say in- a high toiie, while 
she swept him with her eyel«sheB-^' > ■ 

" Tell Mr Grandooiirti thAt his arralngements are 
just what I desired -'-^ passing on without Imstey 
and leaving Lush time to mingle some admiiHtion 
of her graoefal back with tliat half^-aihiised ^eiiais^'af 
her spirit and impertinence, which : he : «xpr*sibed by 
raising his eyebrows and just thrusting his torigiie 
between his teeth. He really did ridt want her. to 
be= worse punished^ and he was glad ' to think thatt 
it was time to go and luiioh at .the club, where he 
meant to have a lobster salad... • 

What did' Gwendolen l6ok forward t4.7. When heif 
husband returned he found hisr equipped iti. her 
riding-dress, ready to ride out with him. Bhe.was 
not again going to be hysterical, or take to het bdd 
and sdy slie was ill* That was the impliqit resolve 
adjusting her muscles before shfe could have framed 
it in words, as she walked out of the" room, leaving 
Lush behind her. She was going to act.iii tlie. 
spirit of her message, and not to give U^rsejf tim^ 



BOOK VI.— -iEEVBULTIONS. 30$ 

%o reflect. ,Sh©:.rang the..b<>ll for bier maid, and went 
with the u^ual. oare thmagh; her change of toikt^: 
Poubtleas her h^aband luud m^ant to produce a 
great effect on her: by-and-by perhaps. she would 
let him See tan effdet the very opposite of what hei 
intended; but at pir^ent aJl that she could ebow. 
was a defiant aatisfadtion in what had been pte- 
sumed.to be idisitgr^^able, • It came as an instinct 
rathep tijiah a thought, .tiwit. t6 »h©w any sign which 
eoUldbe intferpreted-as jealolasy, Iwhen she= had just' 
been ineiillingly refaainidBd tljiat the conditions were 
whiat sh»rhad.: accepted with' her eyes open, .would, 
be the .worst tself-humili&tion; She said to heorself 
thait she: had indt, time to^y t^ be cleair about heir 
future ac!£ions; a11> sheSoould be clear about was! 
that/flhe would laatoh hiefc husband in ignoring any 
ground for-'eKoitenient. : Shb not only rode, but' 
went out with hinsi to dine, eontribtting nothing to 
alt^r theii*' mutual msiniter^ whiph was never that 
of rfcpid, /inteuchange in. disi^ourse ; and cuariously 
enough .she rejected a handkerchief on which her 
maid'. had ji^y nilstake put the wrong seeht^^a scent 
that Grandoourti had : once objected to. Gwendolen 
would noli -hiave likeid to be an daiject of disgust to 
thisi husbsifnd :wbom she ha^ed : she liked all disgust 
toibe otnjher side.. ,/ • j .• 

But to» defejr thoiight in this way Yra,s something 
Hke tr3riagi to talk dbwn the siriging in her own ears; 
The thought that is 'bound up with our passion is as 
penetrative^ as. air— everything is.pohjus to it ; bows,! 
smiles, conversation, jreparfcee^ are mere hbneycoinbs^ 
where stmh^thoikght riishes freely, not always with a 



safe DANIBL DEHOINDAl : 

taste of ' hoiiey. And wlfchiiit ehutting herself- tip itf 
atiy solitude, G'Jrendolengeeiii'ed at the ^hd^of riineJ 
or ten hotirs to^'have gdde MiwyagH a labyritith of 
refleo^don, in whicli already the-' gatie'sufocession of 
prospects had been v.epeated, th id' same "ftillabioiis 
outlets 'rejected, the Same shrinkii;ig' fr^mi ihb hec^S^ 
sitiqs of every boUTi&ef. 'i Already' she wa» lifadergoing 
some hardening' sfifeo^ from »fefi&ling»{that she 'W»» 
under, eyefr which /saw hfer pfetetJ i^tioili^ isolelj* m ihe 
light I of her lowest mtrtiveq, ' 8h» lived bac^ li the> 
scenes of 'her Keoortshii^i Witli ' tlie nie w ' l>itter coni 
sblousnesS' of what {had«ibe«ri' ih QranBodarfe'B mind 
^+-oert«Lin toow, with' her ptveaent eiiperiience of:him,f 
that he 'had had d pfeouliajri trioanphi^iil' oonqneriix^ 
her d*amb . repugnaic^y 5 "»Dd ' ' ffthat 1 " ever ' sittcse 'tb^ir' 
maorriagei he ihad had' anbold-eiiultarfcioiilin knowing 
her faneied i^eorefi. He)* inifiaigination < e^taggerarted. 
every tyrannical impulse ^ he waff'bkpibte of.- ^^"1 
wilMnsist on beifig-.teparated; froiBa'him"H^washeT 
firet:di«Btingi.deterDainati<5n : then, *M' will leavei him, 
whether! he oonseritB orMnot. i; Ifthie boy ^becomeb' 
his heir, I; hove made aol' atx>^embntj'^ t Btit' neither 
in idarknesi nor ih daylight '■<K)uld'Slie iniagin:^ the 
scenes .which miisik> caarrytiout ihdse detAnninaliong' 
with the*. courage "itofe^l thein uendurliUieJ Hiirf. 
could she run away to her own fanlily^^vdarry dis- 
tress! among . i^em, 'aaid t render herself • ^ii obj ect > of 
scandal. icL tlie t si^ipty . shb had: le£kt bel^d her?- 
Whait ifuifeurei laybefiwe h^»a» Mrs Graindii^urt gone 
badc' to )her mother, who would* > be ' imade' Tdestitnte 
a^ain by 'thfe rupture 'ofithemarriage.'for which one. 
ohief excuse hadi been i' that lit ^Uad'< ttro^ht that^ 



BOOK VI.-^REVBLATIONS. 307 

mother U maiiitefnaiicse? She had lately fcieen see- 
ing her uncle and Anna in London, and though she 
had ^een saved frcan any difficulty abcyut inviting 
them to 'stay in GWosvenot-' 'Square by thieir wish to 
be vHth Kex, Wlio 'would hot" mk k meeting with 
Tier, the transient' visit she had hiid 'from th^wi 
helped now in' giving sponger colour to the picKiure 
of What it would be for her td take refiige = dn ' h6r 
own 'family. '^\rhat could' she- say to justify hfer 
Sight? ' Her uncle woiild tell her to go back. Her 
mother would cry. Hef aunt and' Anna Would look 
at herewith wondering siUtm. Hei* husband would 
]hatvel' power to 'c6mpel^h(Br.' She 'had absolutely 
nothihg ' that she could allege iagainst Tiimin judi- 
cious "Or jtldicial 6ari^. And to'" insist" 'bn separa- 
'tioh!" Tliftt' -Was' an easy coifibinatibn of Wl3t^s ; 
but considered as an action to bb executed against 
Graridcourt; ' it would be about as practicable as* to 
give him a jiliant dispdiiiti^h and a dread of oth^r 
pi^ople's unwilKligness^ How was ' she' to beginl ? 
tVhat was she to say that would not 'be a coridemna- 
iion oFliei'self? '" If I ani to have mlfeery anyhow/' 
was l!h6 bitter refrain of her' reb^Uiotis dreams, *^1 
had better have thfe misery that I Can keep to 'my 
self.*'' Morebvdr,' her cajikbility of rectitude told her 
again and again that''sh6 had" iio right to coi6pla!in 
of her contract, or id withdraw from it. ' ' • 

And' always among the images that drove her 
back to submission was Deronda. The idea of her- 
self separated from her husband, gave Derondia a 
changed, perturbing, painful place in her conscious- 
ness : instinctively she iTelt that the sepiratidfh 



308 DANIEL DERWDA.. •: 

would be from jhirn too, an4 iuitj^e .pyospeqti^fp 
vision of herself m a sqlit^ry, dubiously regfirdpd 
woman, she < ifelt some . tingling baj^hf^lness ^^t r thp 
remen^branc^^ of her behayionr, tQW^iords him* The 
asflocialjion of Peronda , with ^. dubious position for 
terself was intolerable. ; And^ what would he saj 
if h© kneiw, everything? Frobably that, she- ought 
to be^^r what she h^d brought on herself, .uideB? 
she were sure tl^at she cpuld make .hersdf ^ ■ bettef 
woman by takii^g p,ny other pQUfse. And .what sort 
of woman was sh^ to be — i^olitary, sicjfceigied.iOf life, 
looked at with a pnsp^cipui^ kind of pity?— even if 
sKe oquld dream 9£ succi^ss in gett^pg that dreary 
freedom. Mrs. jGrrandcouxt "run .away "r would be 
a more pitiable ; creature .than GrwendpJlen .!Hai;lpth 
coi>d^mn,ed.to .teaph, the biphop's daughfc^s, and to 
be inspeotefi by Mrs MompertT , i ... ,. 

One characteriajic tr^it i^i- her conduct ip. worth 
mentioning. ; 3h® wpuld j^t lopk ^ secQn9^ time at 
the paper Lush had given h^ ; apd before ringip^ 
for her, maid she. locked it ]i^p in ^. traveljling^e^k 
which was, at ha,nd,/proudly reaolved ag^^;t.puric|i?i,ty 
about what w,as allotted U> h^rgelf jin co»nectioa?L wi^ 
Gadt^mere— ^feeling herself brantj,©^. in the,mu;icig o£ 
^er husband; and his confid?int:,with the. meanness 
Ijhat. would , accept marriage, a^nd Wse^lth on, any con- 
ditions, however dishonourably and h^nwliating. • 

Pay ?ifter day the P9,me pattern . of thinkii^g was 
repeated. There came nothing, to change, thesituar 
tiouf-pno new .elements in the sketch-r-pnly a recur- 
renpe which engpraved it. The May weeks went, on 
into June, and still Mrs Grandcourt was outwardly 



BOOK VI. REVELATIONS. 309 

in the same place, presenting' herself as she was 
Expected to do in the accustomed' aceties, with the 
awjoustomed grace, beauty, aaad costume ; from chnroh 
at One end of the week, through all the scale of de* 
sirable receptions, to opera at the other. Ghuroh- was 
not mgtrkedly distinguished, in herj.mind from the 
other fonns of self- presentation, for marriage had 
included no instruction that enabled Jier i0 connect 
liturgy and $ermon With any larger order of the 
world than that of unexplaihed and perhaps inex- 
plicable social fashions. While a laudabje 25eal was 
labouring to carry the liglit of spiritual law ,up the 
alleys where law is chiefly knOwn as the police- 
noiali, th^ brilliant Mrs Qrandcourt, .<Jondescending 
a, little to a i fashionable ^Eectot and ootisoious of a 
feminine advantage over a learned Dean, was, so 
far as pastoral, care and religious fellowship w^i-e 
concerned)! in as isoinplete a soilitud0 as. a man in a 
Jaghthou^e* . . , 

. , Can we wonder at ihe practicaj. stibmissi&n which 
hi4 h^r conptmcti Ye rebellion 2 , Thei pombinatJOn is 
common enough, as we know from the number of 
person? who nm^^ ns aware of it in their own Kjase 
by a 9l»morpus uawearied stateuifent. of the reasons 
againi^t their ,su,bmitting to. a; situation which, on 
inquiry, we discover to be the. least disagreeable 
within , ifheir negujh. Poor Gwendolen had both too 
njuqh apd top Jittle mental .power a,nd digmty to 
ina^p herself .exceptional. JToi.wondea; th^at Deronda 
now maiffeed soDfie hardening in a; Ipok.wd manner 
whic^ were, schooled .daily to tjie suppression of 
feeling, , , 



SIO ' DAMEL DERONDjy. 

For i example. 'One mom%g, riding in Rotten 
Rdw'with Grandbourt by her; Aide, she'isalw stand- 
ing aigainsfe the > railing aij. the turn, jnstfamig them, 
^ dark-eyed kdywithi a little! girl arid a blond boy, 
whom she > at once 'rec6giiiised> as .the' beings in all 
the world the tmoftiti painful for. hieir to behold. She 
and Grand<jourt had just slaokeried their pace to a 
Mralk ] h^ being oh th^ ■ outer side was 'the hearer 
to the tiii welcome' vision, and G-wi^ndolbii ha^d not 
pres<eirei9 of pimd to db ainy^thing but 'glance 'away 
from' the dtark eyes that hiet hetri^ pi^diiigly toWardtJ 
Grandcourt, Who' wheeled J)ast th6 group W^^ith ah 
unihoyed face, giving no sign of 'recognition/ '. ' 

Iifimieidlaitely fehe felt a rising «rttgei agathist-'hiBfe 
mingling with her shame for herself, and the wofds, 
"You tnight iit' least ha^e:ri0i.iBed yoiir hat' tb h^r,'* 
flew inapetuou^ly to her lips — ^ but' did not pia-sb 
them.' If as hbr husband, itt" het company, ^he 
chose to ignore these creatures whom ishe herself 
had excluded fi^ih' the' place she ti^as' filling, how 
dould she be the peri^n to reproach him ? She was 

' It was hot chft-nbej but her dWndieJsigli; that hid 
brought ' Mrs Glfct^her ' therei with 'h^ bby: She haA 
<5bme to town under the pretext bf making purchatses 
— ^really wanting educational apparatus for the chil- 
dren, and had had interviews with Lush in which 
he had riot refused to soothe her uneasy mind by 
representing the probabilities as all on the side bf 
Tier ultimate triumph. Let "her keep quiet; and 
she might, live to' see the marriage ' dissolve itself 
in one way or other — Lush hinted at several ways 



BOOK IVI. ^REVELATTONS. 311 

-*~leaving the succession' asaixred to liei? boy. Shfe 
bad had to interview with Giatidcourt' too, who had 
as usual told her to behave* like^ readouable woman, 
and threatened punishment if she V(ete troublesome*, 
but had, also- as usual; vindidated himself from any 
wish to be stingy, the mon6y he was receiving from 
Sir Hugo on account of Diplow encouraging hisl 
disposition to be i lavish. Lydia, feeding on thb 
probabilities in 'her fervouit, devoured hter 'helpless 
wrath along with that pleasaaiter nourishment; 
but she cottld ndt let higr discretion go entirely 
vrithoot tii'^ revrfatd of milking a' Medu8a-aj)pariti^ri 
before Gwendolen^ viridictiveness and jealmisy find- 
ing rehef in an outtet of venom, though it were as 
futile ad that of a vipifer already 'flung to the othfeir 
side <!$» the hedge. Hbiide eacJh ' day, after find?hg 
out from Lush th6 likely time f6¥ Gwendolen to be' 
riding, she kfad'X^tchdd at that post, dAirog Grand- 
court J- so fen' Why shoiild she not take little Hen- 
leigh into the Park? 

The MedusBWiptiarition ^as made effective beyond 
Lydifir's'coneeptioW'by the shock it gavfe Gwendolen 
acbrially to see-Gi'aDdcotnrt ignoring this woman who 
had onoe been-lihe nearest in the world to hitn, al6hg 
with the" children she had borne him. ■ And all the 
while the dark shadow thus ca^st on the lot o^ a 
woman destitute of -acknowledged social dignity j' 
spread itself over hfer visions of a fhttire tH*it might 
be her own, and^made pai* df her dread oh her owii^ 
behalf. She shrank all the more from any lo'ndy' 
action. What- possible release could there bfe' f6^^ 
her from this- hated vantage-ground', which yet she' 



312 . PANIBL DERONDAfi 

dared not quit, any more, thaii if- fi,re had been rain- 
ing outside it? What releas<>, but. i death? Not 
h^ own death. Gwendolen wap not a ' woman 
who could, easily think of her own death as a 
near reality, pr front for herself the dark entranoei 
on the untried and invisible., It seemed m'of& 
possible that Grandcouj?t should die ;— rand yet not 
likely. The power of tyjranny in. him seemed a 
power of living in the presence , of any wish that 
he should die. . Tlv& thought ,th,atl his death was 
the only possible deliv.erani3e for her {Waa one with 
the thought that deliverance would nevei: come — 
the double deliverance frpm ' the ii^ury with- which 
other beings might repro3ich her and from the .yoke 
she had brought on Ixer own npck. No I she fore- 
saw him always living, and h^r own liffe dominated 
by him; the "always" pf hetl y:<>ung experience 
not stretching beyond thi^ fewuiimiiiediate years 
that seemed immeasurably iong with hei; passion* 
ate weariness. The thought of his. dying would 
not subsist : it turned a^ with a dream*ohai3^e in!to 
the tprror that she should die with his.. throttling 
fingers on her neck aveaging that < thoij^t. Faiv 
tasies moved .within her like ghoste^ making no< 
break in her more acknowledged ccwisciousness. 
and fii;iding no . obstruction in it ; ' dark :rayd doing 
their work invisibly in the broad light. 

Only an evening or two after that encounter in 
tfee.Park, there was a grand oonqert at Klesmer's, 
w;ho was .living rather magnificently now in one of 
th!^ large houses in Grosvenor Place, a patron and 
prince among . musical profesBorE(. Gwendolen had 



BOOK I Vl.i-^RUVttAtf IONS. -313 

looked forwiard to this' ocJoasfon ieiB 6t(e' on ^Mdi 
Bkei.was sure t^xmeei DdvoiidiE^ atid khe'iiad beeh 
:meditatiDg how topdt a qtiQifeitio^ to^ htm- whidh, 
without ' ooDftainingi a W^A' thaK sh^'Wuld iM' a 
dislike • to lutter, Would yiet be 'cbcplicit diougfr' to 
him ito' understand- it. The tebti^^le of oppiisite 
feelings would »not let- her dbide^ib^ bfer instlnet 'that 
'the Terjr idea^f • Deiionda^s >]^&ktioi^ td h^i^ i^as a 
jdisoobraigemeat to-'anyids^speratestep tx>wardfr' frtee- 
'doni« 1 The 'uAxt wnve^of embtion WIU» b^ Ibngifag-fm^ 
Boqie. ^iiofd *pf liki ta)ieii{bro6i ia t^d60lve« 'Thd -flu^t 
that hei^ opportmiiildB <^ oonVerstttiofil' <rhh 'biiii 
had > always to be in«^tohed' in ^& dotibtful- 'prlvfeoy 
of large p^rtiesy odhsed h^ to livi^j fhtou^hi'ltlKetii 
xnany tmks beforehand, imagiiAlng bow th^y mcftlA 
•tAkJe place and: what she: Would »ayji • The»imtatiofi 
was proportionacte' wfeeii wd opji^frtliftity Msfeihe; arid 
this evening at Klestta^rViBhei included Diirondia in 
her angeryibebau^ h^ lookeddsc^lii^ ids possible ttt 
a ctistance fmn laier, whild^ ftHe WaBitn dangieit o^ be- 
tiiajing heir ijnpttiiainoe bo feveiy onei : who^ »spoke to 
her*' She- found her oiily ; Safety 'iit-tf/ chill haughii- 
nces wbioht made Mr YaM^rnoeidt renmrfe'thieit Mvb 
Grandcburt was becoming a perfect matcl^ fer her 
husband. When alt last' ihe ohaufced^tjf the^ et-e^ing 
brought Deronda ne^ hery'Siif! Hugicy and Mrs Ray^ 
mond vrejce close by Imd'eould b^ar^J^vett^ w<M^d shfe 
said. No ihatter : : her bui^baind iwais^t not' near^ • and 
her irritation palBsed ^vlritihotit oh'eok iutO' a :fit'.<of 
daring which i^estored th^»'«edurit5r of 'her welf- 
possession^ ; Bermuda Was 'ithere-^a^t la6t,' and ^he 
would, compel hinv toe do' What: shd pieaBed. Al- 

VOL. II. L 



,|?0^y ftRd.,)^^tbQ^ti,-^rfe^ rather qUdenly m hei air 

^^beitiir^^- a^)roj!ralT>^^pii9siy:eji€j8$ into licar .waly^iof 

.^paoi3tqW)fl^tw§f!n/§ve. aa4/si?l,;MT Ddtandft.".i •: ' 
/, [Tlfi^re pouldvb^.lb^t.oijie ajipv^^Wra^fthirt moment.^ 
j",Cier.tftiial])r;'Vwitbi8^^ftptie of Qb^dionde. m, , v :i. . 
,, ^#eBW^rd9 iiOftelW'ed t)(?:.I?ert)iiidajthait he would 
wvitOfl^ i^tje itQ. ecsoiiiae. himself, i Ha tbftd -always 
Bk^oi^Mi, jh^mQf ^FoPaU at; Gtean^oomrt'sw;: i But:. tie 
ieoUl4i]!*)t per^usMJe.hw^lf to auy fet&p thwb laig^ 
ihUft ib^ £^Rdj.whe|;beE Im rettmenwBX^ taken^ for 
iudiflfe^eHjtj^. pr forlfceaffedtatioa pf andi^fisiTencbiiit 
(W^Wibe.i^Tfiall/iwppiJidiiig. r.He feeptib^s pcomifiie* 
)tJjW€«idjol€(m bad deieJi^ed tro.ride'out om. &e ,pl6a of 
iHOit ife^}fog l^ell ^noUgb) /having' Jefit'beir.r»jteal to 
ftbfi last/pioiia$iiiit,iwhen tto bosses w^e;eoou» |to be 
ftii Jae di*0r-^bPt ..'^itbbpi filaian .lest: heijibvflband 
should sftjr .l}i«t|'^iieHto((). woTifld. fetay at hom^. B^ 
Jiio^m. oim/jst, ftTiipQr»titiou8> about ids. i^w^r. of ausr 
^pfLOiQius diyif^aiion) -^be^ had a» .glpOM^g fbatetboiagbt 
jOf'wbftt tb0 .WPuW 'd^DI'.in tbat'oase — ^namely, have 
i^Otself i d^teied > P-s; I jaot' :weU. , But , Granddcrurt ao- 
•Odpted bier e^cus0 'W;itbouti.remadrk; and rodei o& 
V ; iNeve»fcb|3l08S' wbdn )€twi^»dolen; > found: .hetself 
aioney Hind- bad- ej^nf-dawtt the lOirder tha* only 
Mr I^ronde^.^ias M be< <adi|iittedy she' began fco^be 
^JfW-med at. what »h^ bald: donoj. and to feel/a grow- 
ing agiitati/Qu i^: the i^hought ithat he< wcnild soon 
xtppear^iand sbei i should., feooib.be obliged to speak: 
not of tiiyialiti^, ' as if she .had had no serious 
i)[^tive Iq. asking him /to oome; aiid yet what she 



BOOK VI.— REVlBMl^ltoS. 3'J5- 

had be<in for ; hours 'det^mteittgiib' say 'i)*;^^li't(>' 
steam 'iiopogfldble. ' Pol* th« fitsi tltfie ' ik^ • iinfiiiul^d 
of tapped! to hiefil #a6 bbing checked by tiitiUdity,*' 
and , nb W' tiiat it was too' Ult^ '. slie/ Wa-a dhttken' ' by ' 
the possibility that he^lnilghffc tbifik' her.^ittyitatteti= 
mzbecomiiigu If bo, £^6' ^ould hav<9l ^:^k' itij hid 
ej^eemJ' But iTnoliediatelyishei^istei thi^'idibler- 
abld fea« as an infeaitidn 'hottp her huHt)and'fi^w«tfy . 
of 'thuakiugM That fm. would ixy she .was'^mSkktng v 
a. fbol of. Jiersslf was- rather" a reaBbiri Why^-BtKih a/i 
judgmBnt would be' remote "from Derbod^'s^ imfiM; t 
Bu^; that' she coulH. not rid:hers^f ft-Mu thi{& sudden ' 
invasion of womanly xeiickbce was <mani(iest^in a- 
kind J pf ) I action . which • had • nd ver oocupf ed ' to ■ h^t • 
beforai . . > la her -Mimg^le bdbwewn agitation ■ mA the' 
effort to ifeaippress it^ she wai waiiking^tif) ^di>d()iwn'' 
HiQ l«©^Jaj: of two drawSaagHCOomB, ;whett'0 at>ibd^ 
end, a /louig mirroB i reflected • hbr in "her «bladt dressi,' > 
chosen in the early morning with a half-admi^rf«di 
rpferenoer to thiu hour. ;Bnrf[ above f thi s. Iblacfc cfr^ss 
h^rh^ad'On its' white' jpillar of a nSeok<'feblcy#edvtoI 
advantiagb. . : : Some . cdnseiousnesB of * tUils made > hep^ > 
turn hastily and hurry to the boudoir, where ' agairui 
there^ ;was glaiss^ but '/alsd,: tossed ovmri ;a t chair/, a 
lalrge^pieoe of Uaek lace whidii she. soat'ckisd aud' 
tie<i Oive». her Qyoiroi- lof bair-fs^ (as oompLetely to. 
conceal her neok, and 'leave only her t^ce*. looking 
out- from, the black ftame. Iri> tiiis m4nifefcl».eoiiJ-' 
teuapt, of appearance, she thought it, possdbievio be 
freep froto Nervousness, but. the bkck ildce did«-Qot; 
take arv^ay the unieiftsioessf from heir eyeB*:tirrd lips.- 
. fjliteiWasi standing in ^he middi©. of the JDopomwiltteni 



sti0..j^^pei)Yi^.tl^^ bftijfcooifon.ifiOma t^ajsoiiMwaainot 
his,r|aft^?bi jEf^U 'Sba cotild no* haVe (defined the. 
ob^ng^ f e?fi?ept hy* « $ayi»g th»t he, /lodged > les^ « hajipy . 
tbaft VJ^P^l, ', a?|id Jap|)!eaared . to be ^mider: iame" .ejffort: 
ip( : (sp€|al?to^.i to/ iieif, ' ; (And, , ^et Uhje spunking njMajs 
thiefsKghifc^t lpo»8ifele4<: They, both said,'<P*How do- 
ym/iQ'VJ ffviiti^ •oiittly;^and ;Q>wendQlea,tinBt«feid idf 
sittiiaig 1 1 down, nio vadt t6 ' (»// littld distance^ i reHiing * 
her:iajrm87tiligUitly(.<S)n jth© tAE back M a: chair, While; 
D.^JTQl^da. 'gllQod. urtiore^ he < waa,^— both feeling' it . diffi*- . 
ciidt:.t(> <sayi anythib^ mi6rfe,i thon^h • the-'preoctapai^ 
tion- iu Mb,, mind// couM'i hardly have been' laaorei 
renajote ] tham < • it- was horn Gw^dolen's ; Concbplion/! 
Sh^ tol^uTally saw litt . /his • ezids^riBissment : borne* ' ^e^-' 
flectitoFof, Jpuer;,ow!d4 '. ibrced-toi spea^, she ifdtind' 
all • het; : training , in. oonceahnent < and iselfejomiftand ' 
of -n<D[.ube itb ihdr, iand.lbfeganiwith timid ;Ai^wahii 
riesb^fti-iI^ii-V. i s i^ti. ...fj^-''"' V''"' ■•" '■** '' ■' ''■ 

•VtXoii W'illl>- s^onder • why ! I begged' ^^ou* t6 ^jomet^ 
I»iwfentcd<4o>laaki yoitMsomiEithinft;' ' Y(!)U 'saifi I 'Wlus^ 
igndrant;: , 3?Hat* is ^rue; f ; > And what ' ban • L' do btii? • 
a«k.,you.???'.v .(:. = .'■■•• •■•!i >»i •..•I." ! !?■: -j^^rf^i! . ■'■ 
t ; Andi ■ at j ;thMj/ mdm^ifc -she' ? wAs -fe^Mn^ ib • Yitt^riy • 
ilnposbibleJ 'to pnt thJe* " cJtiestioiiS' shift' had ' int^nd^'d.: 
Scttnethinlginew in 'hernervbnsiJiiiaiinet totised fie- 
rondo's Tanxii^ty ' lest there imighi bb a neW orisife. ' 
He iSaid >^ith tlie IsadnlesR of affeciionr 'in his:«roice-^ 

**MyHDiily regret is,:th*it I can be- of so little nse 
tOMydiiif' >The.'w6pd8 and the toft^ tondied ai HeW 
spring infiherfand she'Wfent ©li with more Mftse of 
freedom^, yet - -still' ndt'^ayin^ atiyj^bjiig she had de- 



BOOK, Vli— KEYBfiiill^NS. JJJ 

signed tb sAjj' seaii begialmingiito bun^jitbi^t sbQ[ 
might BoipiehDw limye '^t !the,]jgbt 'i!iy(^(]^» . ;.>, i 

/^ I wanted to tell you; 4bat] J. jua^^ c^lways b^^Q/ 
tbJmking of your advic^ but ia>it any: Use? — I C9i^% 
maka myself differeut, because tbiags joibouif me w^^ 
badfedlings-Ti8«Ml I>mu«t go On-r-iljAsm; ^tep; iiQth^gf 
4-it.iB.nO'Us8e.";.[ // - "P .•.*(,/ n;/,, ...j •.. [:,.',. 

:S\a& psMutecl ^ dA " indtimt^ wjtb.-tb^ cp^sciopsnefi^ 
that ate 'Was mat fci^mg i^h^rigb* iVQfd^r bvt beg^m; 
again -ap .bUnriecUjr). •, f */3\jrt[iC ; I. [ go , q|>, 1 . 9b4f ; g^fr 
worse; ::Ijwiaiit not vii<?i!^eti WorpfB. l ahoirfd,. lik^; 
to ibe what ^ou. wi^h. i.;Theire..ar,e peppile, wbfl.s^rfl 
good and enjjpy greoi} , *btogS --jrf I jfeftojwr tbeJ^ ftr^^t 
1: am a (Jontetuptibte creature , .1. fe^l, , 9>S' if I . s^(^4 - 
get wiiched.witb k^tiug p^pple^. .J^bp-^^. t^eid^tQ- 
think thaii I -would gor aiwfty fropi,|evep:ybodyf{ iPujb, 
I can't. ■ . There i aw , ^o n^atoy , jtbip^s, .. jto . biiipl^r,. \^^ . 
You thinft,. pjerbftpi*, th^^t J. dpuit.raindf, B14 I dq. 
mini I am dfraad df i^yeryJiWmgrii J 9,vtju afrai^ !Pi 
^©ttiiig wicked* > T^ll mei.wjb^ I ow 4o.- ,: 

She had forgotten everythingi bi^^tbs^t icfiJige pfr 
lier: ihielpleos .misery .wbicb [^^: upa^.^t^ipig tp, n^^e 
{Hreeent to DerQudiQt in,Mbjrq^ep. ajlu^ive 3pei^ch[-7r. ; 
wishing to ooilviey,;bulJ>iw)t ,/9xprei^,:ftll beir.jpyejad^v 
Hen eyefi w^re tearless, aQd l^uad QtIoq^ of sxpartiug, 
iniheip dilated brilliaBoy; therp vjas a subd|ued jif^^i^, 
in bet •voice whicb iw^a s^oi^e a^d pv^ire veiledirtill, 
it waB> hardly above .a iw^pet., vSbiB. was bw^'Jg^ 
bersielf with 'the jehvels thft* glittered, on bor itijightly- 
ckep^d -fin^erB press<ild ^gjain^ be?: ;hea^. , , . 

The feeling Dearoitida endlired; ^ jt^e^^ . mQj;Aeift^ . 
he afterwards /oaU^ I horrible* jWq^s ^ee^^|i,^f 



3lS *lDlA»ffiL';iDEROKDA,i<M- 

MVe no ' mettle ' 'resctiev-iri tlkm I tHaoa if /he hitdl been 
beholding a/ineffisel^i^i peril of 'wrefBk-^thisj.poor :6hipi 
With its Infeiiiy-li^A kn'^uishr'beateh by:.the inescap- 
able stiornl. How cteiilfl hei graBpthe lorig-grchi^iiiiag. 
pi^OdesS' of' this yOUii^' "Oteattir^'s' wretchedness ?-r^-\ 
}it6f#''ai*est'a'iid"ehatge'it"Wtith' a;isfentenoe ?. Be 'Wasi 
afraid of his own voice. The words- that rafihed 
iiitd' hife'' mind '^^imed in ^^h^ir'fe^blelnefls nothing 
bitter thftli defepafr iiiad>e ttudible, -dip ^an that imsenv 
stMit^f'tid^ aiiother^iti^hA.r4bhiJ)^''whicH' applies .^ecept 
tb' ' isocitkb piaiin. -Hi^' felt' tlinibelf ^ 'holding i a crowd 
ofwdrAi' ijtopiri^oncfd' -Within^ his- 'fips; as if thi^* letting > 
th\3in escape WO'uid- be a vtolation of awe before 'the 
lAy^twies of 'biir tiiman-lot. Thie 'thought that! 
ui'gM' itself forebaost 'itas^-** Oonies^ ' ier<^eiyth«ng to 
ybtii* htisband ; leavfe- nothing' (iono^aled:"^ ^ the: 
w(:^ds ckrried in Ms' 'mi6d'>fe vifeion'^Df 'reasons, whioh' 
Wotilii hare weMed riiticlh!full56i:^ exprefesionfbr Gnwen^ 
dolen' td iappreiendlllheni/'but 'before he had beaten 
to utter those %fnef seWfcenCfes, ih'i' dobr open^fiind 
the linsband' enliii^fed. ■ ' '. ' ' =' • •" •' 

<Jrandcou*r't hkd ' dfeliberately'^bne^btit -andifaamed 
back 'to Satisfy* '!i sttSpiCffon.' Wha* He ftaWiwas. 
GhvfeiiaoM's facf^ of ^'anguish' ^m^dr- blaek likea 
iran^ ahd 'Derdndji/ staiiditig thr^fe yards- from 'her i 
With* a look of sorrow* snch att h^' might 'have bent^ 
(ki trie last stirtlg^fe: of life in « "feelored objelct. 
Wilihdtit any show of surprise, Grahdooirt nodded, 
to- Deronda, ^\^&' a seooind lodj?f at' G^endbten,! 
passed on, and '" seated' hiiflBilf caistly at -aj. little 
distance, croSi^ng' liis Ifegs, ta&ing out bi» hand- 
kerchief and trifl{ng with it elegalntlyi - i 



BOOK i y«w-i--REVBLAy|ONS. ,31? 

7 Ghydridolen had sbw»kMftnd cl^ft^iged feer .fttlit'lde 
bniseedng-i him,. butt '»bQ)jdid »not tlwnjor .B^(iHV^>frcRn 
'hen pUqe, .{ It \^m>A ©ot a,njpi»0«t, in wfeicjli i^ba ^mild 
feign a«y<il&S%r<^T -ml^ftife&t »py(&troag,fri?5ruls^cw,<if 
ieehug; ftli©^pftfeai(Mqi|b1|erii»j(?yepj^ut,pf heff^Jf^atvepQ^cIi 
was still too strong within her. What she^.-fe^t 
besides was a dull dSspf^iviliig/ W9n«fi.j:h^t her /inter- 
view with Deronda was at an end: a curtain had 
fallen. But he, naturally, was urged into self- 
possession and effort by susceptibility to what 
might follow for her from being seen by her hus- 
band in this betrayal of agitation ; and feeling that 
any pretence of ease in prolonging his visit would 
only exaggerate Grandcourt's possible conjectures of 
duplicity, he merely said — 

" I will not stay longer now. Good-bye." 

He put out his hand, and she let him press 
her poor little chill fingers ; but she said no 
good-bye. 

When he had left the room, Gwendolen threw 
herself into a seat, with an expectation as dull as 
her despair — the expectation that she was going 
to be punished. But Grandcourt took no notice ; 
he was satisfied to have let her know that she had 
not deceived him, and to keep a silence which was 
formidable with omniscience. He went out that 
evening, and her plea of feeling ill was accepted 
without even a sneer. 

The next morning at breakfast he said, "I am 
going yachting to the Mediterranean." 

" When ? " said Gwendolen, with a leap of heart 
which had hope in it. 



SfeO OAN^IEL' DEiWDNDA; ' 

'i.ii<!rfji^ day sMf t6-mokmfi Tke- jFebht iis' at 
'MarsiBiU^M. hmti is gon^ 'to' ^t : e Very tilings oreadyb' > 
^' **ShaiH I have nkamma to «tay ^th me, thpn?" 
isaid Gwendolen, the new siidden p09l^biltity of peace 
and affectioi(!i filling het mitad like a burst bf morning 

light • ■'•■ ' •' •'■''■ ••• ' •■'>!!; . . • 

^}^o] yon will go with me.'*' ' i 






1 1.'; ; 




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3i21 



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•ii . 



• ilT .'.I' f I 'i' 



CHAPTER XLiX: 



; I 



^ver in hia soul 
. • (• TIMblAfg0i*Jafl«i(ii^hichinakeiigHtiitttd0 ' 

Triumphed above resentment *Tis the mark' ,. 

Of resal natures, with the wider life, 
.. An^ftillear capability of joy t^ > , ' 

. Notwite^zqltantiq t^^stipngest.len^ , . 

' to faho w You goodness va'hislied into pulp 
; N^er yroeOt "tbank ye«L'?-i-they(i!& iSho dtvil's (harsj - . - 
Vowed to be poor as he in love and .trust, , 

^ Telr must {^ beg^bg of a world that keeps 
,. ,, ,9oiQe^hiifoaQprp{pk'rty., .. . i - 

DERO^ip4,^p parting; fipm Gw^x^dplenj-Jiad .c^bt^wiad 
from saying, " I shall not s^, you ^gain fw. a long 
wh^e ; I am going.avaji" fest/Grandcouxti Blw)uld 
uiicle;rstand;l^im tp iipply. tb«^t l^e .foctwaftof iran 
port^oe.to.iher, : . ..i ... •, ' . .= i ;; « •. . 
., B[e,was. ^qtjUa^Uy going awftyiund^r Qirc^mBtanc©9 
80 ;pomion|^ua.,ta Ijiip^is^lf that wk6xi he isetcoat U^ 
fWfil fiifl pronxisQ of calling/ on. hcor, ho; was already 
ijud^r; Ijbei isha4pw,;of. ,9?'; sq^^i^an emaotioai wbich irer 
vive4 the dQ^pe^,oxp^rionc^ .of hie;lifeu. : 

Sw Hngp ha4,6ie?cit.fc):;[him^tp bis pbap)tar8 with 
the note — " Conae.ii^mwiiatejyi .Something, has; 
happpaeid : ?' a prepai:?^tij()u iths^t caus^ .hiwi sbme 
reli^ Vf^Uy on ente^ng .the- .baronefc'd I study, he/ 



322 DANIEIi BERONDA. 

was received with grave affection instead of the 
distress which he had apprehended. 

" It is nothing to grieve you, sir ? " said Deronda, 
in a tone rather of restored confidence than question, 
as he took the hand held out to him. There was an 
unusual meaning in Sir Hugo's look, and a subdued 
emotion in his voice, as he said — 

"No, Dan, no. ^i^ dp^ro*, I have something to 
say.'* 

Deronda obeyed, not without presentiment. It 
was extremely rarp. fpr Sir HugO: to -ahe^w so much 
serious feeling. ' " ' , " ' 

" Not to grieve me, my boy ^< no* -At fettst, if there 
is nothing in it thait will grJeVe you too miich. But 
I hardly expected^ -that this— ju&t tbis-^^wbuld ever 
happen. There, have; beeii i-ea^ns ..^liy I have 
never prepared you for it. (PhOTft have been rea- 
sons why I have never told you anything about your 
^a!»^i)ag6i. ' But I hav6 striven iii eVery ^aj^'iiot to 
itirtke tha1!'aW itijury'to you."" ' ^ ' ,< = ^ ' ■ 
'^Sir HtigP peitisedj'btlt D6rondk^fc6ttld' hot speiik' 
He c^d not' safy, **'I have-hi^Ver'fblt 'it' ati"injuryi"' 
Even if that had been true, he could nbt^hkve ti^tddl 
hi«'Vdoe'tb say a-nything. F«LJ!''^hio*r6"fti'dn'^^iatiy'ohe 
but Mmseif dduld faiow^ of Wa^*li*,tigmg oii' this 'kn6-; 
inbnt'Vhen'the'secitboy wfA's t?o bef'brokeii. ' Sii^^kugti' 
had nev€fr seen the gf«dld' f*ce h^'ddighted' ili sb" 
pale — the lips' prbssfed togethfet witli 'Sttdh a Ibcfk' bf 
pfeiflw H^ writlt Oil with A* niore '^nxK>tta tendenl^ss, 
a8>if hehkda new fear of wounding; ' '' * * ' 

I'^I haVfe 'acted in obedience' to your- mbtH^t-'isj' 
wifelie^;'' Th^ secrecy waft' -ber wish. ''Btut iiow 



BOOK T^iibHRHVlEIiATIONS. [823 

tfihe) deriiwBs.to ueAiovQ /iti / iSho deriiras' toniee'jjncra. 

.1 will.ipUt)thi8. letter iato y.ont ka«(d»y."Whiofc ijfau 
<}Wi /loA .ftt l^y-^ftnd'iby./ .Itrwill. raswely tell. .JwU 
what she wi^bda you to, d^i-jaud -whbre' ^munwill 

{gb Hugo^held ««it aiiHett^iiNifriftteti.Dn fibc^gli 
i$ia|)6ry tVifhidl2.p)9raodfct thrtiwlv ioDtothiisibreast^bfaet, 
iiwi^bias^nse :fif Irelitfitbeit ihe [wabviiot lealXed .qu 
to read anything immediately. Tboiremo^oii on 
-lUkliitd'^ i^oe hud gained Joto^ilhid.baiTcmet; and was 
Yi»ii^\ sbajfij^ iw#/..0(9i*^O9rti»v 1 •iSiT'.Htigo Jfetand 
it dliflfowlt. to iCiay more^ti lA«d 3>eron<la'aiTRhol©.«dul 
wa^, pq^se^sodi fey jai ; qH^sfciwi whicfti v*e . « tfie r bard- 
ie jit, ii^-tb^ vorjd ^ ^t^fer.. .:J^t h©/c<»Jild5a0KMibQ9.riife> 
delay it. This was a sa(5ramant«J. jnlom'^t* . i K b^ let 
lit .pa^$, he.:Coi4ld.i|iQt, teoover ,tbe ,iiaflti»euo©« umder 
which it wa3:|xwaiblQ.to'!utt«r: Itb&tW'ordslftiad.jnidat 
the answer. For some moments his eyes were cast 
down, and it seemed to both as if thoughts were 
in the air between them. But at last Deronda 
looked at Sir Hugo, and said, with a tremulous rev- 
erence in his voice — dreading to convey indirectly 
the reproach that affection had for years been stif 
ling— 

" Is my fiither also living ? " 

The answer came immediately in a low emphatic 
tone — 

"No." 

In the mingled emotions which followed that 
answer it was impossible to distinguish joy from 
pain. 

Some new light had fallen on the past for Sir 



:'334 ' DANEBi; DBBONDA'. ' ■ 

•Htrgo too. in this interview. After a eileilce ' in 
' wlsadk * : Derodda felt ' like ©me -whose xSte^d ' ig igoiie 
.before he. has'i reli^diksly.embtaced another, the 
'baa-onet saidj^in a top^ of confession-^ ' !' 

"Perhaps I was wrong, Dan, to undertftkei 4ehiat 
I did"; And peihaps I liked it a liitle, tod well — 
.having you all to ^ nayftelf- - 1 Bat if '^j6xi have * Ji«d 
any ' pain which I niighli hikve helped, I ask'^cm 
ito forgiTBmeJ'"' .«!.' •J-- ■ •< -, :■> •'.•n «t 

(7^* The f^rgi'V^eriess'hafif'ldngbeeri there,'*?^ saldi Bfet- 
^ondaL 1' The -diief p«tift'h$is always laeei^oh dii6mnt 
of floniie''one else-^^wihiwuft^'I nex/ter kAew-*^wboin J ain 
how* to' knowy ' It has to^t hiitidered' liae from ftdin^ 
• an : aflfedtioni ift»r » yon wliich • hAM malde a/ lai-g^^ ' part 
of all: ithe ' life ' I remember.^^ ' < • ■ - - 

' ' It seemedikime iinpnl«e that m^de the'twtt' ni^h 
olasp '^(ach^ other's: hand fort a ithotneiiti' . . • . 

,5 ■ '• •;'■. '.: ■■'. •", i\]i.'[ ..I i>-,;if. •■'. .: !■,.(: . ; ,/•-•. 

-; '-'.' 1.. i ;'l ,.!i u! . IV' ■ ■(( "ijj ti ,: lu 

.-. - .. • i:. .-■ J liuv/ .; - : r. .->, .11 • < ^;t 1. -! ..• 

lit- !,..; ^ ■•,-,, f ••. !. •' ,• •. : ] .\\ A ■ t'f *. :.i • 

;• ■ si /il (.'jj- I ' /'fi ! " 
'." I ■'• .1. • /.'• . J. . i ;■■. I • • ••! ! • !.■: > / : 'jl '' 



... ..i\ 



BOOK VII. 
THE MOTHER AND THE SON 



);- 



I , 



i 



/ .. •• I.. '.: .. ' . ■ ■•!: . • ;.. -1'' 



III • 'I 



.■I 

I 



CHAPtEB L 



"If some uiQrtal, bom, too soon, - • 

■ ' ' " \^«i'laW«Wayiri80rtfe'gt«attttiti(ie^tiieage« 

His true time'^ advent.; and could then.revord. 

• • iliewttraiBtheiy spoke -^fidikepi' watch' l^lrftrbed,^' ' "• 
..,;, vXheiiIinigU^teJ(l,raor(aptt|iebreiitJi,fPliifUt; ^''. .. ' ,.;^. 

Updn my eyelids, and the fingers warni " 
•Among 4ny> lialr. . T^atli' H eottfO^ed { y^t n«%ter ■ (')/<• 

. ^ • SprduU y^ap }. but, when thalj i^irit pfisspd, . . ^ . , , . , 

•' I toxned to him, scarce consciously, as turns 
' :•:' !i waterfinals vhfib tsides ci^ his sleep." ' • •< 

— BiiOWNiNo : Paracelsus. ■ 

''\l ■ • . ' ' - 5 .- ■•• ■: '•'<{ ' 'y. I 

This was the letter which S^r, Hugo put intgi De- 
ronda's hands : — r . r r • 

I.. .■ .'i /■ r U . '■ ■, ■>: f«.i ''...• -i >. .' : 

' ' ■' ■:■• ; ".' •; ' ■ jv >T • '* - /i« • ; ■ .t,. . 

TO MY SON, DANIEL DERONDA. 

• •■ •• • •' :,.:.•••' . .M >i.' • • I f ■ •:,; •[> 

■ My g(M MieAd irid ■ yodrs,' Sir ■HFngb* MaHiu^r^ 
i4ill liA*»^fe ibid' you' that I ivSeb tose^ yom 'Myi 
health Tft' ^hAk^n, atitd I desire theafe shouldtbe no 
time- 'lost h^ior^ I di^lil^^r 4o ^tfu what I ha\ift long; 
withheld. Let iKithing hinder you 'from- being at 
the Albugo dtVt HUilm m Genoa/ by ihe .fonrteenth. 
of thi6 Inonth. W&it f6l: mie' there. • I 'any/unoettain 
wh^tf' I' shall bd abiy f^ n>^e the joUnkey fiim 
Spcfeia, wliGlre I shall be "staying. Thafemill ddperidi 



328 DANIEL DERONDA. 

on several things. Wait for me — ^the Princess Halm- 
Eberstein. Bring with you the diamond ring that 
Sir Hugo gave you. I shall like to see it again. — 
Your unknown mother, 

Leonora Halm - Eberstein. 

This letter with its colourless wording gave De- 
ronda no clue to what was in reserve for him ; but 
he could not do btherwise than accept Sir Hugo's 
reticence, which seemed to imply some pledge not 
to anticipate,. ttemotihei:*sidi^plpsiir)e8,;^^ the dis- 
covery that hi« liffe-lon'g" conjfeoturseiS had bfeen mis- 
taken ch^ckeid JFuxther sumise. D,e Wda lijould not 
hinder his irdkginatioft frbni taking "'a; ^ttfck flight 
over what, seemed possibilities, bui, he .rftfused to 
cont emplate any dne ' 'of them ds ; . ^bT$ ^}%^^J than 
another, lest he should be nursiiag it»into»a dominant 
desire or repugnance, instead of simply preparing 
himself with resolvQ to meet the fact bravely, what- 
ever it miglit'tiirn out to be. " 

In this st^te of mind he could not have commimi-' 
cated to any one the reason for the absence which 
in some quarters iie was bmiged^ to mention before- 
hand^fl^ait otalU to. -Mordec^i, whew it w)cwi,ld aflfect 
3BVpowerftilly><aB) itfniid 'thiiwsfelf^r.o^ly .i?i ,v^tY^ex\iSk, 
diffei»h1i maf. M Ije wercfito ^%y, ^M IHniti g0ii?g! ^' 
leararf the 'tTnith:}ab<(>u.t- wiy biiftH" fMjpr<MaV;«.[hiQp,ei 
woujdrgather 'vfhat. migJ&.t:&t-ov0ift ipa^nfoH dapgier(j)W9. 
exoiteihcittt. To ^3galwde» s,i^'pp08itionfi,A>h^.,(^pQ^-e Qf 
hms . Ijoumey . . la^ befeg ' ' upjiert^kfea ' by. ; Hit: , ;JI.ugQ'^ , 
wwh; andittfcrewias lAwijli indifafereucep^pj^ie! qouJjd. 
iitO";hiB .tnannet'bf .awouucing it)-, saying he w^ia-. 



BOOK VII. Tip: MPlTHEIR.iANO THE SON- 33,9 

y^c^^i^ oi, its 'jinTB(ti6tkf but- it; » would {i^vhapfiibe: 

^'I will ask to have the cbild< Ja^ob 'ijoit steujn with' 
me," w4 Mor4^<s^i,;eo^^f^)^ti»g bitaself in .thiawiy, 
ftJ9iei:..tb6 fafet moufnfiiligUnQed*! i ■ I)-: '. -^r. 

>; /'M will -clrive r^aiii^ :4ii<) 4tsk Mils Golkentol^ihim' 
od?ae»,"..9^id.]VIirab.;'.,/ '; ,; f-- ,-;■:'.•. .'»•,,'.!■ 

., f* Tbeogmudmathet' wiU s deaiy! yoii : iibtbingj" isaidi 
D^rouda* ^^Tm. ^ad^j^QU wane a^ilitt^e wrdn^t >asi 
well aa I/' h^! added/ sibiliiajgi atiHoideioaij i^^i!i^oti> 
thought .that old Mxi^: Coben t^ouid xkyt beax to<'6ee< 

Miijab/' V •: ■ . ,1'r •; >. . -•; ,(;i • ■■■ m..-.-< 

" I undervaltied hsk hl^art^'^'«aSid;Mol5d^paii " 8hfe 
ifi <^pable of lidjoioingithat' another' s;:|)laiijli bloomet 
though] her own bei'Wlitl)lereiDL;''i •< i i ■;.{ "•:«' ••■!.>!■ 

'^'Oh^they are delarlgoodtpeoplp j^I feel a»!i£'»w«' 
aU.hel«mged. to ieacb othear/' said> Mirah^! wiiitih a>tiHgei 
(rf ibeiriiiient in her smileJ t -i . . n Miif- f -! .: 

'^ Wbafe should youiha^teifeltif tthat^-Efeffei- bad ;beeii, 
ycKir bxqth^i: ? ? said Derendiei^ ;miBobieivoiiBly--^a little 
piroiroked ths^:dbe had. tiken. kindly rab<oiice io people^ 
who hflul oaiised him so muuabfpDdspeotivei anncr^tiGW 
(A'beaf-acoou-bi ■ ■ !• ; ' '.. • ;-'*t >. •■<'<.■ ...'.' \ .' .' : i. 
. MirBihi looked 4t < him with iai«fligfat ^sui^rise ifo^eJ' 
obfom^nt/aiikdiltbei^ said^i<S^:He isltiiot a; bad l^mbnv^I- 
tbdnk he 'Would: never' feraaikeaaikyonewV ' Biit>w)i»en> 
abie hadntterbd tho wordJsshelMiishied^dteplyj.^aiid' 
g^aiiciior^ timidly* dt ^ Mordecai^ ■ tuniddi away to^' Hpm^^ 
occupation^ > ( Her' father . was > i im 'her ^iud^ and r tHie' 
was a sufeja^Ttri oti wkioh she >«ihEL/ Ueb< :t]arotheriihstd >a: ' 
painful mutual con8i4ioti¥nfc88. i-'^'K he^' showld'cotts©' 
and find'ua !^" :Va»;a» thoughiwhSah to Mirki some- 



330 ' DANIEL DBRONM. ' ' 

timefli mad^ th6 street daylight^ iifi ehadoWy as a 
haunted forest where each turn screened for fer' di^ 
imaginary appirition; - .<•;.'* 

. Deroiida- felt what wa6 hef mvttJlttiitaty Sallilsion/ 
and understood the blush, itbw "(iould ^ he' be - sloW 
to understand' feelings' whi<!5h ■ ik^w seiiiii'eH' YieJarer 
than ever to his own ? for the words of his' 'moth«*'« • 
letter implied that his filial relation was not to be 
fused from painfdl conditions'; indeed, sin^ularlyi 
enough that letter which had brought hi^ mother 
nearer' as a living reality had liiitiwn her ihtb mori- 
remoteness for his affections. The tender yearhihg 
aftbr a being. whose life might hiive been the'Wbl'se 
for noti havii;ig his care aid love, the image ' of a 
mother who had not haJd all her duew whether' of 
reveitence ov\ compassipn^ ha4 lc*ig been saferel^y 
present with him in his observation of >all thewonieh 
he had come near. But it seemed now that this 
picturing of his moithei* might fit* the faotfe noib^i^tter 
than his former oonceptiDne . ii1t>otat Sir. Huga Ha 
wo^de^ed to find that when thid mother*a veiy hand* 
writing, had oomeito him with words- hoidlii^ h*r- 
actual feeling, his affections had suddenly skriink^ 
into let state of domparaiive neutrality tbwkuds her. 
A veiled ifigiure with eniigmsttio speech iuad ihimiifc' 
awaJy that iifiage which; SiCb spite oK\ ubcertaintyv his 
dlinging, thought haid giadhally niDd^lled and made 
the. possessor of! his 't^ndemeas'^nd dtUfceotift lipnging. 
When he set off to- 'Genoa, . the- interesU reaily -upper*! 
' mo^t in his mind had hardly do* nbnoh relatibn to his/ 
mothei! as to Moi^cai aDjd Mirah. ' t 

"God hl^6s yoii>,Dan I*' Sir' Hugo had* said^ 'when 



BOOK VII. IHJ5 MOTHITR /.4U»D THE SON. . 381 

jtheyj-^ioofc fcaaictei. f' Wl^tevei:.elfe6iebiiB®e«fft)T»yQU, 

'Jmo^aQ,iand:the oneu^h^i^haB'a]! &)i!(»9^ £Qlt;.jlbe oppi^t 
jfor you; I oduMo'tiha^e lioVrid y©»fbftttei>af g^rfd 
becnoDjr owfn-monly I should ha^elkiav^i^bett^vplaii^ 
.with thiiikmgiof yon fihraMyatifetilLeifatniw: jiii»ster iof 
Ike Abbey kusfteAd of my fine iheqpfcavf -5 .^nd* t^efta .ypu 
twoiild liav®fj6©e» it tiQ09sewry for yowiitdtftbe,^ poJliti- 
jeailitie. HoW(«v.^r--tfaittgS'ewfBt.:b0 as^ifcbe^f^may." 
It .tsran a 4^fofiswermea^ut».of 'tbfttbdiranetls.lp.aaait^^ 
IpnrpoBelesB ro^j^kB with :tbi^ ^ixpfc$$$ion-.of iBerioiAs 
.feeling. :\ '■•.:!• . ;. • • ,, .;,' '.:..- ,• ■ 
. When Peronda i^nivftdat/|be /fe^.iPiGopoft^.no 
PrincvE^B Hali^Bbei^eii^i wg^.thei:^; Mfip?i tl>fsr s^^epJuJ 
(d^.ther^ wap ajettarjior-him, f^yw^jthj^ fe^aiTivtii 
ipight happen within'^ syie^k^ot/jnigUttb^ (Jf^ep-ed a 
fortnight .andj I ^nor^ : ^he : wa^. .ujider . piypmafista^oes 
whieh. m^ it[iH|pps^ibl0 for ;h^ tp.iix! h^r. jQ^«n^y 
^pre .pre^ely, a^d fijhe ^tc^Qdlhi^aita, w^it.iUB 

.p^tiefttly.as ■Ji^..cpuld. •■u^n .1.: ••• -i ■,/i^s\ '■! • 

With tfii^ itdofiiiite: pjwpf^Qt pf , BTispi9?iBe on Jwt^ 
,texa<^f foxipThmj^lWoment tpi;hiw, I>er(J^cl^^iWt aboirt 
«tb^ diflfcnlt.taiBjc of , seeking ,wauB&mpi^tr, /q?i pbil^ 
^pptfio .gipi;n4B,. aft a^.^ieanfl ^ ^i^ting. excited feelr 
ing: ftnd giving p«;tience.p. lUft mev. af?!veapy,roa4i 
Jiju fotmer.vi^it to the. i9uj>erb cjty.bt^l. been \<[>Hly 
cpjJBorjj^, ^nd left him mueh to l^m. beyond the j>?-e- 
^wJ>ed iiroimd .of sagh;l>^^ing,. by fip^»dii?g th^ ^Qtf cr 
konarB .in obsw^iant wandering -^pnt Ijim ftt?jeet«, |tbe 
quay^ *!nd the. i^ftvitOnp ^ ted'-fee oft^n.,tt)<3Jt(i^. Iwat • 
jbhai; he might enjoy the magnific<i At. view pf the. pity 
a^d h^bonr .frprn th^jBea^ . AUi^JghtB, ,mJJt flat^^B* 



i882 .v:o.-. ' iiT uiUNiELirDBROKDA. .:.- >^ •■■ 'f 

oentitil iitiioti'in^ Mbifdeo^i iifid'^M^mh, and the ideas 
iimt6edi4t^l3^ $i88obiailied with them*; and' among* iible 
'thoruglitS! that- nmost filled! his niind ^hile Lis hoat w«ls 
ipashiqg aboilt ' within' Vib^ of ^he gnmd harbonaT:^v<ais 
that: ofitbej'tntiltititidiooiis' Spanish^ Jews centimes 
ago dri^^eh" destitute from: their Banish hoihes, «uf- 
teired to Ikid' fpora. tbe^crowded ships only fidr!bii«f 
r^St ion this^'grahd qwAy of (Stenoa, oveifspreaditi^ it 
•^th a ;^»ll 'Of jftbiniiife and I' plague-^ dying mothdrfs 
With dying* thild»0tt at' their breasts '^^athersanfl 
sons agaze at each other's haggardness, like gtoups 
•frbin 'a 'huiidt^d^Hiiiger* towers turned out 'be- 
neath thiei mid -day sntt;. 'fn^vitabiy, da^eamy- coil- 
Btructi^n^ tif a "pkiasiblfef anceeflry for himseilf Would 
'^eave thetti^elvfe^ 'tvith' historic m^biories which had 
b^gtth tb have a, • tife w interest • for hi Ai' ' on his dis- 
covery of Mirlahj ftnfi 'nbw^ trtider the influence of 
Mordeteai,' had '■ bfecom^- ' irresistibly dominant ' He 
would have sealed his mind against ''such construo- 
tiohfe if it^ had" been posi^ifeiiBi and' he had never yet 
fUUy admitted to' himself^ that he wished the fkcti^ to 
veiify M^rdfeorti^s' i3^viction : he irtwdrdly repeated 
tbai he liftd lio ohbibe in the- matter, und that wijsh- 
iiig Was folly— Tiay,bh the qu^tion'of parentage^, 
witfhitfg sefetned part of: that meanness 'Whieh dis- 
owns' kinship: it was a disowning by anticipation. 
What he had to do ivas simply to sicdept the ^et ; 
aiid he hfed teally no strdng presumption to- go tipon, 
' now that He' wlis aseiired of- his mistake about 8ir 
Hiigo. I'hf^f e had been' a fesolved cOnceialment whioli 
made all mferehbe'^niit^ist worthy, and the veity name 



BOOK VII. TBfflE MOffflBlt; iWft) THE SON. 1333 

hei bore ttiight b6"i iW«e' on«t< "tff ttoid^cai^ ^t^ete 
wrong — il'hef^iiJate s<!Mca»Jled Daniel ^Dercmda; wwe 
heldr by ties i&nti:rel^ 'aloof from any mich ceratsei ap 
liis fiiend^ft pathetiic hop6 had marked <«it>?-^b!e wotjld 
lioi say " I Wvfih ;» " Wt .he , oould not help fedlfag' dn 
which side ihe'^aetifice lay* f ' ' ;• I:'. 

Across these two importtihate <thonghls, whioh he 
resisted ais ' much «i,b bne cam-resisi' anything in thM. 
unstnmg'conditidii whaoly bel<!)bgB to BOBpense^th^npfe 
came coirtinually an anxiety 'Urkioh he made no'^eilbil; 
to banish -^dwelling on it ifath^ \Htii a monrnful. 
nesSjWhidk 6ften 0i0eins tb^us theibest atonementiW^ 
cok make to ^n^ whose •'n^ed'Wfe hare beenunkble 
to meet," Th-i ^tnis^ty was* for Gwendolen. In' thfe 
wondetftil' mixtiares df out* nature ?<ther©: is a fei&lirng 
distinct from ^il^t fexbinsive j)aisBionate Idve of which 
some menbtidfwomefti (by fno! means all) aref -capable, 
Which yet is not' the saitt^' widh frie«s*5hip, nor i/vitib. 
a iiereljr -benevolent regard^ whether admiring jot 
compttssionatettt inaii; say— ^foi' it is ft man'Wh'o'is 
here 66nciftm€id-»^hatdly tepresdnts to hittiself this 
shade' k)f • ffeelimg* towd/rds '■ a woman mor© neari^ thdh 

in the - ^ords, ' " i^ ' shoiild 'hrtVe' lot^' ' hiar j > if l- ^ t 

the " if " covering 8<]toe prior growth in the %ioiin6!- 
tions^ 01*' else sotriecirotimstattces wMch hate maffe 
an inward prohibitory' law! as a staiy aigaiilst the 
emotions ready to quiver out of balance. The " if" 
in Deronda's case carried reasons of both kinds ; yet 
he had nevef throughout his relatiorm 'with 6\^en- 
dolen beeii fi?ee from the nervous consciousness that 
there wa^ fiometliiiig to guard against n<k' only dA 
h^r account 'but '-on! 'hts own— soisie preei'^tiiic^ 



:9di: . ). p; .0A^IBIi:ilpBEONiDA.- ,jiv •.. .- 

iu/tlie )ii4a]a4test<itio». of ,imj)ul;siwfe feeling -r-r«ioioa^ 

rui^ouB^ inroUd of i^rhat Jfe but .jjjioipcfllitlily onr the 

peumaottent. cWsen trftfksflr^ of th^ Jto»ii-r~some! sjpiwl- 

iikg>i{i£ ber {trrnst, wbiQhiiWtought UpQti^b^BSiinow as if 

it« hgtdi ^been ,flw retreating ■ cry oi a'er^aiture snatched 

and carried out of his reach byit^wft.'hQrsienien, or 

sjvift^r wavejs, while hie own [strc«gtti>^a8 only a 

Bttonger sjatiseiiof vweftkness. How oiwiddtis feeling 

fwifGwendoieaa everib^ 635$b€itly/ like? i his "feeling for 

lOtbiBr women^ eveh iiili^henj tbwe < wari ' Ofiie: by whoee 

-side he ^deaireid to -etebadi apart frowi tbeit ? Strangely 

herfifigujse entered .iutoi the t^piot^rfis^jof Jlis [present 

aindi future 5 ^traiagelyl, (a*d nq^i? itufleemcyft .sadly) 

their t two, lots h^»0Qi|ie.i» coni^l^ h^n^ iMwarowAy 

jjeiUgoatial, his charged with farrreadping. seneibitities, 

,p0rhapH with durable^ .purposes, wbMh.iWeret- hardly 

.mare present to her .than < the : re^sc^^ why n;iien> 'mi- 

igi^te a^re pi^^^t. to the ,bird& that oou^e 'a» »6\<al >for 

the orumba and fiiid theim no Bfto^re.. ,iNqt ^a<t iDer- 

0nd*/wa8'toQ i*eftdy to ifliagifte .hipi^elf pf «upr<eme 

inlpcSijtftiaciBtoa. ifaman', bnt'b-er 'woiids.iQf ijmistftnoe 

thftt he ," must remain /He^r her-T^in^^t not fojfsake 

her" — jOOQitiau^y reojur^ed tohiiji'with thedear- 

a^sB.ftnd impQrtijnity odf.ipoagjined ,8j(i^u^ds,* Qtioh.ap 

Dski^teMjifl^ said pierce us Jik^ /arrpwfl wJ^s^ points 

carry tf^§ sharpness of pity :—, ,.}.,:( . ,. 

.' JMiimti\saetUMfon me, (iivem ,\j,, 
• J Che di pietd ferrcUi avean gli strait," 

: ,P«iy aft^rday papsedj aoad: the. very, air 6f Italy 
^eepai^d. to.,.C|3krry . the. /Qonsciojusne$p that war had 
tbeepdeolajed iagai^st Austria, anfd ev^ry day was a 
t^nijiing march of crowded Time towa^rd^.the world- 



BOOK VII. TRfi M6tftE* 'AJfJJf THE SON. 336 

chinking battle of 8iddwa. Mean-while, in Genoa, 
the neons Wei* get^ilig;' ' hdttef, tbd converging!' 
Otrter rdads gistting* Idee^ei- with^ white du»t, 'then 
oletodbi^s-^' the ttib^' laloto^ >the way bide I 'gardener' 
locking i:fiibrfe dtid'mofe' like faia^ed' holidfey-thakersj ' 
and the 6We^= elfcniUy;^' changing 'hei" oBice'^A^t-- 
tering abroad tlio^e whom the ttiid-iflay had sent- 
undef belter, 'and soWing att paths- with . hii(p'py> 
social sounds, little tinklings of mule -bells ftnd 
A^himngs .'of ^brtitnbefi; strings, light footsteps and 
voices,' if not ibiitirely', then with the hui1*y of 
pleasure ito tiKein"; ^hile ihe enciitcKng heights, 
crowned with forts, ^kit4)ed withfiiie dwelling^ and 
gardens, 'seeita^ alfio'tbcome forth anii ga&e 'in fel*' 
ne^'of beiEttrtyaftei* thd^^'long si^sttt^ till ill strbng 
colour melted in the' ^i*^am' of mOKMdiliglit which 
niade the'sti^e^tfe a new-^peetaole with shajdows, 
bdth still' slftd'nioviiiigj "0& ijathedral steps and' 
agaitist the '%ades 'of iAal^sivie palaces; arid 'thfen- 
slowty with thfe kkettfcendteg: mooin all' sank iiat deep' 
nighi dnd silenbe^, and libtliing shofiie btrt th^-pbt^- 
lights of the ^reat'-Lantet^a hi thfe blidkness belofw," 
and the' ^liftini^frftig sita^s; itl the^ blackness aboVeiJ- 
I>er6nda, in his suspense, Wiltched 'iMte Tevolvirig of' 
the days as'he tnighti'have 'v^^^atched a wonderfhl 
clock tvh^re ihe stiifang'^if the houirs was made* 
solemh wltli ant^ue figures adviaiiteing ^iid retiift&t- 
ing'dti tndnitory proee^ssio»^ While he- stall kept 'his 
ear •open' to* another* kind of 'signal/ whidli wwilA' 
have its- sOldAinity- tob. •» He- was -beginning' to 
^eken of bd^m^aii^, anid fbund 'himg^if'cbntebi^ 
plating all a^tivitj^^vritbr the aloo^sii 6i a ptiBooeif 



336 : DAlflEfc . p[;>EEQNDA.r I . : 

awadting. ran^m. Iti his.l^tlierdt to,:MoirdeQa(i au<J. 
Haas)< he bad e^voided imiiing aboi^t .bims^Uf^ but, 
be . .was really I getting inijOiiJiat M»^ of ;inind tp 
wbidb all eubjeots b^coijpie, .>peri^Q|ial ; i aopjd v.tb^; few 
bpokd be/ bad bto^gtit to cuirke :b[im. a i^efuge in 
study were beoo^ing uDLFetadab^Q^'l^ejoaius&tbQ point; 
of vie 1? Hbat life would make for bijoii .ij^^s; in that 
agitfhtibg moment oC .uncertainty;: wl^c^. is close, 
i^poii decision. . ;, .!. ; ,. . ,,. . 

MapLj nights were watehed tb?)(Hig^ by him in- 
gazing fijom, the ppen. window of his roonpi on the^ 
doTidble, faintly pierced ;darkni0ss of the se** and the 
heayens c often iaji struggling .imder Xh& «>ppr€ii?9,ive 
soef^tidism. which represented, bi» particular lot, with, 
all the importance be was aHo:mng Mordeqai' to give 
it; ag< of nb iipQiore Isipting ^fifect tbaoj a dreiani — a set 
o^.chtoges which made passipn %o him^ but beyondt 
his coneiciousness were no inx^Q than;.{an itpperc<5)p- 
tibia difference) of mass or shadow.; sometimes with 
a refaction of emotive forqe which gave . even to 
sustained disappointment^ i^y^n to the .fulfilled de- 
mand of sacrifioe, the, lUature. of , a- satisfied energy, 
and spread, over. his youfig fui1^ure„?^ih*teyer it <night 
bid) the attraction of devoted seiivice-t sometimes, 
with a' sweet irresistible hopefiitn^ss.tbat the yery 
beBt of human, possibilities .iid^^bt b^ll him — the 
blending of a complete personal lpy& in one current 
with a largto duty; and sometime^ agiaiDi in. a vdood 
oC rebellion' (\itrhat bumtoi . {creature* efsdapes it?) 
against tbimge in geiieral . because, , they ar$ thu9 
and not otherwiele, a mdod in wlioch, G^wenddep and 
V^i.equivocal &te, movedas bnsy^imeges of :what. 



BOOK VII. THE MOl'ttER AND THE SON. 337 

was amiss in the world along with the conceal- 
ments which he had felt as a hardship in his own 
life, and which were acting in him now under the 
form of an afflicting doubtfulness about the mother 
who had announced herself coldly and still kept 
away. 

But at last she waei, come. One morning in his 
third week of wdlting itie^e wag a new kind of 
knock at the door. A servant in chasseur's livery 
entered and deliyerp4 -ip IF'i'.e^Ph the verbal message 
that the Princess Hatlttt-.B'bei^eih had arrived, that 
she was going to jest .during the day, but would 
be obliged if Mopsfeilir j^OTilct. dine barly, so as to 
be at liberty at ^evefn^ When she wou^ld be able to 
receive him. 



.•\\ 



:i. /><••• j.-r./ 



••..'i 



;3i38 ■ hij' .-i; . 



.f 



•!! 



:•■< .•' r>. 



■;. cHApi'jiC'jJ^," 



She held the spix^e as fihe sat, . . • 
' Eriima ^ith thi ilhiisii-cblled inAt ■ ■ ' 
Of raven i^aix widiawfj^^ t«ate ey^s; , • ■ 
Gazing with a sad surprise 
I . : ' At stffgiiig vldiobs of hei^aeitfey— 1 ' • • 

To spin the hyssus drearily , , ; f , 

In liisect-labotir, '^hile ttie throng 
Of godfi aod men wv^tight ie^ tjiiqdtpoets wrought in ison^ 

When Deronda presented himself at the door of his 
mother's apartment in the ItaUa, he felt some re- 
vival of his boyhood with its premature agitations. 
The two servants in the antechamber looked at him 
markedly, a little surprised that the doctor their 
lady had come to consult was tliis striking young 
gentleman whose appearance gave even the severe 
lines of an evening dress the credit of adornment. 
But Deronda could notice nothing until, the second 
door being opened, he found himself in the presence 
of a figure which at the other end of the large room 
stood awaiting his approach. 

She was covered, except as to her face and part 
of her arms, with black lace hanging loosely from 
the summit of her whiteni.ng hair to the long train 
stretching from her tall figure. Her arms, naked 
from the ellww, except for some rich bracelets, were 



BOOK VII. Tfill M«tt«Ea:iU!fD THE SON. 339 

folded b^fbre' h^^iadd Ude fine 'poise <6f:h^'i'lead 
mafde^ it i Imk ha^ddotter . thkld it steady' > waib. ' Bfo^ ' 
Deronda felt no interval of observatioia' before he' 
was clog^ &i> ftoAt of ikeir,' iiolding: the ba&idishe 
b«d put out ^nd ihen raisib]^ i^-t<)>'his liips^ -Sihe' 
still kept her hand in his and looketii at'rhitn; eid^< 
aminin^jf whilia his chief oonacioaBned» wa» ihat 
lier eyesiwferQ-fiwioiikig^ and heiT&ioe'BO JiDolJile: thatl 
the<:liekt momBnt ^dtie migki look: Hke a diferenti 
person; Eorierrieii while 4^ W8»; eaaiibitiingt him' 
there-. i was a pbpf of ttlveibrdvr suiiflfiiosirill'whrch* 
made>»it£ioit kmgmlge.: Beroandai vdaored no m^Ve* 
ment, nolt aAde^ite xioKieeiveiiwhiit^ sort ofninanifesta^' 
tion hein ' '&«iing demanded; bu^ 'hi&ifali t^malelf- 
c^ouxging oohmi* lik^ a girl^ satd- yet i^onderiii^ •:sA\ 
his mm hak 6i femotioiQc' he hculijlived throm^ ioi 
manyii ideal impeiinga with his -moth^, -and they 
had fleelmed^ni(t)r^):arbaL'thazi::'thiBj!^ He cbuld not 
even conjecture m^iwhiat laaaigxiagd.'die wbikld sjpiaak; 
to hmu. He' imagined!' it would hbt«.be: EngliS'h. 
Suddeinly^ she k$br Ml his. fhand,.! md , '^aoed* :b6th . 
heii^ .on hi& shoiilders^-. while ;heffpfaOe. .gave ooit a 
flash pf adowmttwa in/Whick :^veiyifWoim. line dis- 
appe^rQ4: wid se»tn.ed ';tQ * lieiavei la FrefttO'red : y«)«th^ . 

"Yj^¥(.'f?tte' a.btBiwtiftiJ. creatiurer" aJjie'Sfitid in rf- 
lo^'. meloid^pus yoice, with, isyllatitep . wbioh . Jbiadl 
wha-t might b^icajl^fi a foreign,, but agj^eeabje oittr 
li^^ **fl l^ne^j^. you ,wouId* he," t , TJxpn ^he , ifeissf^d 
him on ^aqh ch^ek,. md . he returned her kis^iQS. . 
But it was «oi^etl^ipg. ;lik^, a) gre^tiag. betwe^ 
royalties.... f ;;./. r..,; ;,.... ,/> ^ ;.j,.,-, ■• . 

Sh^ UfMu^ a ^ofliieftt, wjule the ^inef,;^rere <foin.- 



3.40 ./.< . : DAJJIEIi.PEBQNPA., „;; . 

9 

iDg.-l)ad£ into heir|face^ and ithesi.fiaid iiii a coliiter 
tcwaft, "I am your inoibher. Buti.yoU cian. have'iao 
loVe for itie*'' • - . '; , , . ■ r. ,; . 

^Mjbftvie thonght'of you more than ofi any other 
being in^the -world^!' said Deronda,! his voiceitrema-t 
bUng ddrvouily* ; ,-i 

; ^M am Bot likei ^what yoU tkoiight;! was/' said 
the < mbtheii, dedsively, ! witbdirawii|ig her hands 
fronr hiiit> ahonldera. ahd folding ! her: arana> as. before, 
looikiiig;. at f him as if she ihvited' him did observe i 
hen ! H^ had often pictured her fade, in his/imag*-: 
inatioa as one; whidi had a likeness to .hi»:oi;tm:> 
he^satiTiSom'^ of. the likeness no^ <bat aimidst more 
stariMn^ diffbrencesw > She was si remarkable -ilookt- 
iibg vbeing. What ^a;s- it that gav^ her! son. ai pain* 
ful sense of ! alociftiesfi ?-^Her woia 'beinty had a- 
strangeness in it 'as if she were not 'qndtd a' human 
mother, but a M^usina^> irho had ties 'with '«oine 
world \ihich' is 1 independent of ours. . ; ■ ■ . 

*^I used iJo think that you might :be'iufferi-ng,'' 
said Dierond^, baiuxiobfi dbeve all' vkA to wound her. 
'^ I u»ed toiwish that I could be tai comfort ifeo you." ' 

*< I am: suffeiing. But with a wrfferingj that you 
can't ijotiifort," said the jPriniiebsy in a ^Asrder'rOioe 
than" before, moving* to a siftl'itrhei-e oui^hiotag'higbd 
been casrefiilly hhm^^ for Ifer* ""Sit^ddWnJ*^"' She 
pointefd to a seat' near her^ knii then dift66nling^ 
some distress in' Deronda's fftcel, 6he adiied, more 
gently; *^I gtm ribt' suflteririg at this mbmeiit. I 
aih at ease nbW. I am aW to trilk'^ ' 

Deronda seated himself and waited for her to 
speak again; It seemed as if he were in liie pres- 



BOOK VII. — T»«7W0W»ERi -AJfD THE SON. 3.41- 

onoe lofa. doysterioluii ^^te mtbet; liiap of- ttie 'loi^g^d- 
fonjnothani. Hei ivaaiihegifutao^.itoflvratcbilicarilwitb' 
wOndefc", t&om.tbe spiritual < diataooe. ta. trlMcb,.4^e> 
had ■throlwn hdm* , • . . • • li -;■( ■] r-^'r.- [\'o>\\\ • / •, 

"No^" she ibogan^ ^f'l did)^t .pend fef you '.to- 
Qomfb]^ ime. .li^ooiidd .not .ktujoi^ . betfocehai^d.— ^.I? 
don't know? jQ/0w-rTwh«*t' yotv/ ^riJi-feeli tpwAcds. nw>f? 
I hate ij0t tke'ifoolifibunotion tibfet .jr0ii;;oan Jov^t 
ibe Weffely.feOatiBfeiil ,ato/.yow.jaao1ii«(?) [^bwidypui 
havefneyeff sotiniior befcird;of:iaftiall jiourtJife. ..B^t; 
I..tUoiightr.I..cho«er:8ometfti»g^')betteof fQt yo^.tbazi. 
being witb owe. , J :didt jiQt itbink that I.depiivQd, 
yon of anylthttig wputb- h^ying^"ir. . . ; '/ .. i , ci 

" Yion oanttot wisbjime- toMbeUe¥fltthat yow. afifeor/ 
tion would not have beeU: woTtb:haj7nig/<ifaaiS Dftrj 
nonda/ fiivJingi.tiiiat; Bb^ pt^nsed m> if 9h» bi$pet;ted 
him to mak^t ^om^i latst^er^. >'! • ..i j . ; ; / . ^ 

: "I don't .^rieiap^ lo spe*»k;ill;^iimyaelf/f jsaid'tbe/ 
PrinCeaS) witlx ^ud ia]hpeitu<^SLty^ /^ butrl liad noi/ 
muok affection to give.ybu. I did/ oaot want iaffeoti 
tion,: I; h|td<.bieen' :»tift^d/;i:wllh 4t4 t J i wanted to! 
live out the life that was in me, ai^d 'netti Do rbi^t 
haotipered' with; i otheir. lives;:, , : You. Y^oAdei? what" I 
wea. I waifc> no ptiacess thenJ' . t iSbe . rose), with i la^ 
sndden . movement, landr stood »a0r)..i^h6>, hi& diotiei 
before. .Deronda: .immedifl^tdly xosef tool) he libltj 
breathlesBi :.'... ■'.- ' •• ■!: :. \i s. ■ >. i,-/. •■. ^-'^ . ^/.t 

" No princess in this tame life thatj I(live,iin> no^v 
I was a< gveit dinger, and I aetbd ael 'Woll tm It g/aorg. 
AU the reei wferra poor beside i:m^. MeH foOoifed: 
m& from ooa icouotry > to anoither. li.was^.ilivimg.^Ai 
myriad lives in 600. .I.did ikot 'W|uit<a/phitQL''v_; 1 



342' .^- ■ i'l' I^AlTlEli'DBKONftil.-" /i'-'"''" 

she- had cA«t ddl^j)rfesc0deiit out of h^i- mindj P^-- 
C^xfeni Md AKi excuse' for' her, fwidshe'ccmld iottty' 
seek a justification in the intensest wcxrdffshe soould- 
fiiid fot h^ experieaiceii^ Sfee feeenaed to fling out 
the la*t' ^W^t'ds ' agaii!i4t som4' ' J>08sible l^ro^cH in 
th'e mind' of^ her : sc^, wha: had to ifttand' and hear 
Hi^m-^dutdhitig kife doibt-et)llki'a« if)Ab tr^re 'k©(ipJ 
itig hiii^elf dibove waitfer by it, andfMinfg Jii8>blood' 
ih the mtt' 't^. odBonoaotiori tJiat i'mi^ht' have been 
exdtted' i( hci higid » ise^tt her goittg through soine^ 
&trangfo rife -of' a religion tv^hidh gave' & sacrednessi 
to crime. What els^ had sK^- to tell' ^ him ?*<» She. 
weiit' on with the "dame irrten«ity and at> Sort of 
pdle llittminaticn in'hei' face;' ■'" " '< / 

••**I(iid not Want Ibo ifiaii'ry. ; I 'Was ' forced Into 
marrying your father — forccjdf I mettfi^'by iny:fatiier*&l 
wii^e^ And 'dommftnds ^i aad bdsi<fes|ut Was my best 
\iay (ifj»gettiftg-6ome'feeedoftii. ' I oowid rtil-e my litis-! 
band, but tfot «ny^ 'father. ■ I , had : a < right' to- be free. 
I< had a right to teeefc my iiw^dom frbm a^ bondage' 
that I hated.:" ■ - •<:' r" ^ ■// • ■: ■ M ■ ■'] ' • -.fA 

• She seated herself again, wbik^ there was that^ 
sub<ite tno^vement in hisr^eyes aiid ckwed lips whioh 
i» litee thi^' suppressed cohtinuation of speech. DerJ- 
oticBei Mcjbntiteuied standings and: afbe'r ,a moment or- 
two she looked up at him with a less defiant plead- 
ing as she sald^-*-- i ' : . < 

,^.An<!l ^elDiondage I hated for myself I wanted to 
Wefep'^tt hoih. What better ooald the aaost idyingf. 
motJi^ have d6ne.? I relieved* you lifrom the hoBH' 
dage if i having :4»een« feoria? a*' Je-W' * - / 



BOOK VII. ^^T«B.»M<^THJER..AND THE SON. '348 

/. "Then liom a J^iw?" .Derondab^ratiOiit Nvifii. a 
deep-voiced energy that made his mother sl^7j:ijv ,^ 
little. backtfard,^a&B«t bar QUIibiol)^^^:; ^^My &ltiher 
(lyaife.rtfc JejW, 'and ,yQu -*w a' Jbi^s8.?I'.[ .,; i,-^ ,0*; 
'.;!*Ye8, yow fiMiheij<^.waa jDay.j.ciot:i$in,rii,:saidr th^ 
jtftQtbeiijfWart^jbing bitrnwith a cbange.jft.W, Joojc, as 
(if, afae^aaw aometbipgjtbat she might'.:ba,Y^^i to be 

.4ftaid;tQfi ■•';■•'-. .. i -"t -i • ' •• II 

, ^fl'fm gW of lit,", said D^ron^a, imp©tuoi|Bly, ia 
Ithe i yefled voice! ^f . passiom; He . pould inot ihave 
imagined beforehand . how he would come to ^j 
ii^%,.j9irbi€h.he- lisaJi i^v^t hithe;rto admjitt^ j He 
^lajd'not bave , dife^ijine/^ that it f^ould ^bp in in^ul- 
f^iv^/oppoftitiou tt)[ hig «uath^r. . J?e v^ f^ajcj^q.by.iqk 
m^s4 anger which, fliq re^ectip^..c<??^Ld ,co«?,a j^gia 
Qt^pUgh,to.oheok){ agaip^^ ttpp mother: lyho it seemed 
hM V)ro^.biin! up,wiUingly, had willingly made,her- 
.»^Jf(a .i^^^aQger to 'hjm,' and-t—p^i^li^pa — wajs^pw 
making herself known nnwillingly. This lapt siis- 
.pdoiou; : seemed to. flash, spme explan9.tion pv^r her 
ap^ach^- ■.•■•.. ■• ;!;. ,... 

.,,-3/iit>the mother was; equally shaken Ipy.^^m ai^er 
differently mixed, aijd. her franife was less . equg^l tp 
^y repression. ; .The shaking; with, l^ey was visibly 
phjfsica), andl^er eye^, Jpoked, thp ^^ge^ fqr her 
pallid excitement as she jsaid vipl^tjy— r,,. ,[. 
; "Why dp you say. you aref glad? jZpu ;,^r^ an 
English gientlei^n. ,,I secured you th?tt." ., / 

" you idid /not. Jcnp^v; what . you secured jtnp. . , . ^oyv 
oovild you choose; my birthright for n^e?". s^vJPer- 
q^dsj,, itlffp^ing J himself sidewf^ys: into his,. pbf^ir 
again, ialniQst runconsjciously, and leaning hjp a^pa 



S44 -' 1^ DANIfiL O&ROM^I. 

bv^t-'^thd'hack while hb lootedd away fronk " his 
mdtheif; ••'•■* ■ '■"'• ^-i^' '■';:*•'•■ ■■ •: »v-v| »•,;• 

' H!e Tras' firsad -wiih an iiit^lerance -that ieeinbfl 
foreign to hinl. Btit' h^ *wm ' 'no.W tiyirkg h«rd ; to 
taaster- hims^" and keep silenbei A hoiiroi< had 
Swept' 'ill' tipdii hi& angfep' le«t 'hci shiwld-say 'sbme- 
thing t66 hard iti thiifi moment Wiiiohfinad6»ittn e^odh 
never to be recalled. There was a pause ftefdr^ fiis 
ttiothef s^ok^ again, aiid Wh>6n she'spolie her vbice 
had-b6ttOme'ifnOre'iSrmly "^eSifttait in its finefy Varied 
tones': '■'■ • ' i- •■'' ■■■' ' ' '. • •' ■!• ••■ ■' ^ .'J: ' • *i 
' ' •" I 4!iofeie for yon What I w^oiild' hrtVeiohiSfenf^t 
myb^f.'^' H6w conld IknoW'^fifeat y oil •Would 'iaYd 
th6* 's|iltit''if itty ' faster • iw ' ytwi ? ^ ' f How eoold. I know 
thaft? yott Wnld>' 1(^¥^ wHat P 'hated' ?^ if yon 'r^Uy 
W^ to be "a J^w.''" Tlfe lft«t' Words liftd'Bnbh'bifr. 
t^rhesW'in Ihieta thi;t anyone o^t^rheaHng' might 
h^ve siii)posed some hatred- had arisen between 'ihe 

niother and son.- ' n ' . . .; .j:«(i 

Biif Deroh'da had recoVeifed %is''fnll64* self. He 
was recalling his sensibilities to what life had'been 
aticd'adfaaaiy wks'^foi* her ' whofee IJ^^ years Vv^re 
'gbrife, ' i and Who with the ^i^ns' of' Siiife^ririg hi' her 
frarn^ ' was now exefting herself tb tell hiin 'of a pfeist 
wliicR'wsts iio^ bib 'alone but "alfeo^ lifers; His habits 
ual shame' ai'th^ dcc'eptancie of dt^eiflts «s if- they 
wer^'^his dnly, helj>^d^him ^v.eii'hef^. '. Af( he looked 
at his mother silently aft^ Jier Ikrit'Worda, his- fae^ 
ffe^ined'itome of its penetra1iv6 cfelm ;" yet' it seemed 
to have • a sttiangely agitfeling iiifltiencse' ov6r her t 
her teyefr Were fixed 'on him with^ a sdrt^^fifascintt^ 
tioh, biit not Hvi^h aitiy re'po'ee of niaterrial' dtliglit; •• 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AHD THE SON. 346 

'fForg;iFe.me if I* speak i hastily," liefi^aaidi' wWi 
•diffident^gravity. " Why have ybfu resolved now. on 
disclcising to me what you'/took caare 'tc hat^e^ ii?kfe 
brought up ih ignbtaooei of'? Why— ^ since ' you 
fieem- angry thai; I should be glad?^^ • : i 
. '^ Oh— the reasons) of oui^ actions 1 ^' said • i\ik Pttil- 
cess, with a ring of »6^«thing> like t satcaisifcib &<»ot^. 
*^*Wh^you are as- old as I .alw,: it t^rill-tfio* iaebmso 
simple ia; q^lestion-»^^Why didyo«ido thi»^i*; .:^P©opte 
talk of their motive in a cut and dried' isvayj « ►Every 
-womaiii is supposed to have ihe same sett of motives, 
Knr «lse to be a monflter; f I' am not a mbnstet^ : hnii I 
hwv'e not" felib exacily i what dtheir> womeft feel i— or 
bay th«y feel, fdr. fea»J of. being thought ublike 
^others. : Wlhen you reJ)roach me in yotil-! heart *for 
laending yoE awa^ ftobi ihe, ;^u inttiftili that I ou^bt 
to' say I f^t about ^ you; as oliieKVbin^n'^ay they 
feel about' the^r .ohildriertiJ I did wo^frfel^ that.': I 
-kas glad to be freed ftom.'you»f :.But»I did'weD'foIr 
you, and I gave you your father's' fortune. Dol 
«eem now: to be^ ^e^oking everything ?*^ Well; therfe 
'&pe reasons; I feel ' many things- that !• kjan^t nndeT- 
'stahd. iA) fatal illness has been gpowing in inle fota 
yean I shall very likely not live anoibet^year. I 
will ' hot; deny anyrthing' I have (kwae/ I wil not 
pretond to' love where I have no love. But shiadows 
are rising round me. Sickness makes' thknj If I 
have wronged the dead— I have :but lilttle time to do 
what I left 'Undone." ;■ ' ,i. . . !. 

The varied trailBitioHs Fof tone with which this 
speech was delivered were 'as perfedt as^^the most 
accomplished actress could have mide'theiilt'-''Th€i 
VOL. II. M 



346 . . DANIEL DEEONDA. / ' 

jfe^enecK iwsas in Aietrjaipiaee, of wliatj<ma»y ibe called 
■eineer© : aotJing c lihist^womaa^i nature ;w^sf.ioi!ie..!in 
'Wbiohj.allr feeling-T-^Bd all thevmore iwhenj'it was 
teagic as.weU afs resd-^-^inainediately. became inaattetr 
of conscious riepiresentaf idn r experience immediately 
padded .into idraroa, 'and: she. aoted' tor own- emotions. 
Jb^& miiai&fjtMegree tbia isc nothing ii|ieomm6n,.hut in 
< then Princess the acting had: a.^ jraise-: perfeatidn. of 
physiDgh^myy vbic©, aind gefe^fe. irlt wojuld not f be 
true: to say that* sh6> felt Jess rbeeoase of thi6 jdouble 
conBciouSnass : she felt-tr-tha*- isy. her mind went 
ithrough»t~ftll lithe -.more,: but witian air differences leaok 
•tnucl^ua oif pain oor plea'sutehad' a/dee^atmospfaeor^ 
'of the 03iciteiiient or spSaritual! intdxication; which iat 
once' eisdalts and deadens.' • < ]But ■ < Derouda made > no 
jyefleotibujidf ibhis kind. . AH. his thoughts, hung : on 
th^i pxirpcpft..of what hia motheari.was; baying; .her 
toneiR.fcQd hfenvwondbrftl face 'entered- ilitoiihiii a^ta- 
•ifciOri I without! being noted., What he Idngedfor with 
jan owed desire w^s to know a& much a8« she wwdd 
tellfhim.of the strapgc/ mental >cc»flict<»ndei! which 
it seem^rihut herhadib^n brot(ght into the.world: 
•what lUis compassionate taatiire m^&e then obntrfelling 
idea within 1 him; werfe jthe su^ring and th^ ccwrfesh 
sion that breathed through her later words, and these 
forbade anj^' further .question, when she ■ paused and 
Remained ^lent, with hen liu'ow.knit^ her head turned 
^ little away from him, aAd her f large ' ejies fixed as 
if on something incorporeal. He must. wait ibr her 
to speak: 'again. She did so with sttange^ abrupt- 
ness, tilming her. eyes iipon.him suddenly jvaaid say- 
ing moce quidiy-r— •. . ' -, , . ' .- i" ,, >, 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 34t 

'^ Sir Hugo has written mticib ' about ' you. -He 
tells tne you have a wonderful mind^ — you compTfc* 
hend everything ■ — you are wifiet tham h<? < lis • with 
all his" sixty y^are. You say you are glafl tb !kno^ 
that you were borti a Jew. • I am not: goiri^ .to 
tell you that I ha^e clianged mf mind about, lihat; 
Your feelings are 'against mine. . Yoii'dCtti't-.theLtik 
me for what I did. Shall you comprehend : lyoui 
mother—^ only blame her?'* ■ .> ^ - .: 

" There is not a filn-e' within tnk but nda^Bs 'me 
wish to comprehend her," iftaid Detooda,'iliieetiri^ 
her sharp gaze Holemnly. » ^< tt i» ia bifctepi'renfefsail 
of my bilging to think of blaming W^* What 'I 
have been most trying to do for -fifteen ^ears i»'to 
have some understanding of Miose Who differ froni 
niys^ir^ ' ^ '■''■"■ ■•—:•' t.^ii ; ' "■ : 

"Then you have become trnlilt» yonr gramA&^l^er 
in that," said the mother, " though you -areia-yioung 
copy of him in' your face: ' He never comprehehded 
me, or if he cHd, he only'tUotight 6f fetterii^ ^oii© 
into, obedience.'' I was to be what 'he called Mhe 
Jewish woman * under pain ot his curse. I ^s td 
feel everything I did not feel; and believe e^ery- 
ihing I did not believe/ I was* to feel' awe for thd 
bit of parchment iti the ♦w^rwi^^ir'over.'the.'dbor 5 ^td 
dread lest a bit of butter should touch a bit. of 
Ineat ; to think it beautifal that men ■ should biad 
the' tephillin oil them, and women not,— to adore 
the wisdom of such laws', however -^illy' they .m^ight 
seem to me. I was to love the- loing ■ pray ens in 
the ugly synagogue, and the howKng^ and the 
gabbling, and the dreadfeUfafiPtfi, :it'ad' the tiresome 



348 . ' • PANim. . DEEOTOA. 

feljlsts, and ,my:.;feth.ej:i'e endless discoursing ajbout 
Ouy; People, \thich was a thunder 'withoTit mean- 
ing in my; ears. I was to care for evet about livhat 
Israel had ibeen ; and I ,^d not c?ire at j^rll. :. I cai^d 
for the iWide world^ and ail thftt I coulf} represent 
in it. r hated laving usnder.thei ehei-dow of jny 
fether's' ■ strictness. Teaching, teaching for ever- 
fawBting^t^* this you must be,* '.that y^y, flau^ti npt 
be * — pressed on me like a framei th?kt got 4iigh,ter 
and .tighter. a6 I. grew. I wanted to liv^ ^ large 
life,: with feeiedom to do what every onj© else did^ 
iund be) earned alozig in a great curient, not. obliged 
to €5aa^ Ah ! "r^bere hear tope changed tp one of 
a ! more bitter iaoisiveness — "you are glafi to have 
been both a . J,ew. You.sayisor Thaij i^,;. because 
you have not been brought up as a Jew. That 
sepd.tateness seema swcetdto yoiv beoa\i.Be,I.,saved 
ycMi from it," :- 

fi *^,Whe(n you resolv^ft on that, you, meant that I 
should never know my; origin?" said Derpjida, im-r 
pulsiVel)^* . " You hav<0 ajb least changed . in your 
feiBling on that poiDit;!f 

; " Yesy that; ^as what I., meant. That is what 
I iperaevered in. ^sAnd/it i^ not true to say iJiat I 
have changed. Things, baye ohaijged iu ^pite of 
tnie. ■ I ani still the same Leonora "—rshe pointed 
ifith her forefinger . to hep breast — " here within 
n*e'is the same desire, the same will, the same 
choice, 'but"--^he spread out, hei" hands, ,palm up- 
wards, on each side of her, as she paused with a 
bitter comprejssioii of hbr lip,, then, let her voice 
fall -into muffled, rapid . utte^atice— " events come 



BOOK VII. TH3S MOTHU^ AND THE SON. 349 

xLpbn us like , evil -enchantments : and tbojifghts^ 
feelings, aj>paritii^s . in thue darfcnees.Hre evente-^ 
are they not? i:4oii.t ooQeepit. We .only comeei^lb 
to what we lore. I ofcey M>m^thing tyx-annjfi " yj- 
she spj:ead OQt het h^uds ^g^in — "I an^ fbr<?B(i to 
be ^thered, toi feel pain, tp be dying slowly; Do 
I love that? Well, I have bqen forced" to obey 
my dead father.: I h^v© been; forced tp i;eK you 
th^t you are ft Jew, and- deliver to you wl^at be 
commanded me to ^©liver." ■ , , . , 

" I beseech yovi to tell flae what mave|(i you — 
when you were young, I mean-^to take th0, course 
you did," said Deronda, trying by this reference, to 
the past, to escape .fivom ^what to him was i\^ {heart- 
rending pitepusness pf this p^ingled sufiG^rii^g and 
defiance. "1 gather, that jfxj grandfatjier .apposed 
your bent i;p be an^artjist. Thougt my own ^^- 
periencj^ l^s bjeen qu;i,te different,, I epterinto .the 
painfulness of your ^strugglje. X cap. imagijp;^ 1;he 
hardship of a^ enforced renunciation.! : ;»;;., 

" No," said ■ the Princessj . shaking hqr , head^ a^d 
folding her inarms with , an air of decisipn.^ "You 
are jiot a woman. You may try-T-;bUit you ^^jan 
never imagine what it is to have a man's jfei^ce of 
gepius in. you,! and yet to suffer ^he .iplavery ef be- 
ing a girl.; Tp have a pattern cut out-^Hhis is 
the Jfewisli woman ; thi^ is what, you imjijist :be ; 
this ip what you are wanted for y a woman's hjeart 
must be of such a size and no larger, else ijt must 
be pressed small, like jCliinese feet ; hp^ happiness 
is. to be made as, pajkes are, by a fixpd i^epeipt' 
That was what my father wanted. He wished I 



350 DANlEIi DBRONDA. 

had ' been a '6on ; he cated fbr in^ as a makeshift 
link; 'His heart was set on his Jtidaism. He 
hat^d that Jewish Women should be thought of 
by the' Christian woiM as a' dort of' ware to itiake 
pfutlie siiig'ers and ' aotresses of. ■ Afi if we wete 
not the more enviable for that ! That is a chance 
of esc6.ping from bondage." 

" Was my grandfather a learned man ? " said De- 
ronda,' eager to know' particulars 'that he feared 
his mother might not think otj -. i ' ' 

Sh6 answered inipatieritly, putting up her hand, 
" Oh yl^s,-^and a clever physician — and go<)d: I 
doli't ' deny that he ^was godd. A ' man to be ad- 
mii'ed ill a play — grand, with an iron will. Like 
the old Foscari before he pardon^. But such men 
tuntitheii* wives and diaughters into slaives. They 
Would' rule the world if they could ; but not * ruling 
the world, they throw' all the weight of" their will 
ori the necks and souls of w^omen. But nature 
sometimes thwarts them. My feither had no other 
'tMld than his daughter, and she Was like himselfi" 

She had folded her arms agaiuj arid looked as if 
she w^re ready to face some impending attempt at 
ma6t€fry. '• 

""Your father was different. Unlike ihe^^all lov- 
inghess arid aiSectibn. I knew I ^ould- rule him ; 
and I made" him secretly promise me,' before I mar- 
ried him, that he would put no" hindrance in the 
Way of my being an artist. My father was on his 
deathbed when we were married : from the first 
he had fixed his mind on niy marrying my dousin 
Ephraim. And when a woman's wiD. is as strong 



BOOK Vn. ^THB MOTHBR AND THE SON. 351 

as the man's who wants to goreiti her, h^ her 
strength must be conoeahnent^ I met^nt to have 
my will, in the end, buit; I oould only have it by 
seeming to obey, . I bad an awe of my fether — 
always^I had had au/a^e of him; it was impossible 
to help it I hated to feel awed~^I wished I. could 
have defied him openly; bat I neyer; could. It was 
what I could not.i4aagizie.: I could not act it.tp my- 
self that I should begin to , defy my.fi^th^r openly 
and succeed. And I pever woqld risk failure." 

That last sentence wi&s uttered wjith an abrupt 
emphasis^ 9p4 sbci pau^e^.M^r. it ai$ if the words had 
raised;. a 01:0 wd <A reme#bi;ai^ces which pbstruqted 
speech, j Her son lijsras listening to. her with feelings 
more and more .highly iftiji^ed ;. the first sense of 
bping repelled by the fi*ank poldnqss which fcad 
replaced all his preconceptions of a. mother^ s tender 
joy in the sight of. hin^ } the %pt impulses of indigr 
nation at what shocked ^s, ^pfiost qherished emotions 
and prmciples— *all these busy elements pf collisioA 
between them were, subsiding for a time, apd mat- 
ing Dgior^ an4 mofe roonn for that efibrt at just allow- 
ance and that. afJniiral^ion of a forcible nature, whose 
errors lay along high, pathways, wJtiiph lie would 
have felt if, ins^f^ oj^ being his pfiother, she had 
been a stranger whol^^d appealed to !^is sym- 
pathy. Still it was impossible to be dispassionate: 
he trembled lest the next thing sjie had to say 
; would be more repi^ign»nt tp him than .what? had 
gone before : he was afraid of the strange coercion 
she seemed to be under to lay her min^ bare: he 
almopt wished he.cpuld sa^, " Tell mjB.oply ^^hat is 



352 • DANIKL ©EROl^r© A. 

necessary/' and then agaife h^ felt the fascination 
that made him watch' hei* and listen to her eagerly. 
He tried to reodill het-to paHiciilar^ by asking*— 
** Wherd was my grandfe-tKer's hofrrie ? " 
*^ Here in Genoa, when I was married ; and his 
family had lived here^ fenerations ago. But m^ 
fathe'r had been in vari(3"ii8 cottotriei^." 

<^You ninst surely have liyed^ iri Eikgland?" 
^* My mother was Engli^h^^a ' Jfewes^ of Portu- 
guese descent. My fathet- married her in England. 
Certain circumstances of that marriage made all the 
difference in my life : *ihro\3gh , that mttrriage my 
father th^artfed his oWn )^iti: My mother's sister 
was a singer, and aft^rwardfe ^hte married the Eng- 
lish partner nf a* merbharit's house here in Genoa, 
and they came and lived here eleven years. My 
mother died When I tvas eight years old, and then 
my father allowed me to be continually with my 
aunt Leonora and be taughi itnder her eyes, as if 
he had ndt minded the danger- of her encofuraging 
my wish to' be a singer, as she had been. But this 
was it— I saw it again and again in ray father:— 
he did not guard against' consequcinces, because he 
felt surd he could hinder them if he liked. Before 
my aunt 'left Genoa, I had had* ' enough teaching to 
bring out the bom singfer and actress within me ; 
my Mher did not know everything that was done •, 
but he knew that I was taught music and singing — 
he 'knew niy inclination. Thfiit was nothing to him : 
he ineant that I should obey his will; And he was 
resolved that T sliould mari-y my cousin Ephraim, 
the only one left of my fether^s fAmiiy that he kn^w. 



BOOK VII. TBS MOTHiat AND THE SON. 363 

I wa^Bted Qot>/tQ idariy* I (thought of ial! plans to 
re^at it, but at laiafa. I 'fouiid- ^haii I could tiile my 
couain, and IioonBeiijtedviv Myi&th^r died three 
weeks after we were • mamed, and th^al: had my 
way I " She uttered those woixJe ialmo$fc,fxultantly<} 
but after a little piaase her &oe qfaanged) and «he 
said in a biting tone, *'It has: not lasted^ .though* 
My father, is getting hisi. way -now." . 1 

.She begaa to look 'more con^iemplatively again at 
her -son, aiid prei^eiiLtly said— 

"You are like him-r-but n^ilder: — ^tbey^ 4& some- 
thing of your own father in y0u ; aiMi he tnade 
it the labour; of his :life to deyote hiiiJti^lf ' to me } 
wound up.hia ttioney-cban^g itnd ; banking, ap,d 
lived to Wait upon imerT*-hftJ> went ag^lvfet his' con- 
science fop me. : As I loV)ed Ithe life pf my art,, so 
he loved me. Let Bae look, at your 'hand again : the 
band with. the ring on* It; was. your father's ringt,!' 

He drew, his: chair neare?? to her and gave li^r liia 
hand. . We l^now wh^t kind of hand it. was.: het 
own,, very muoh ..sma.ller, was of ♦the] same type. 
Ab he felt the siaaller hand holdings his., as he saw 
neardr to him thj9 face, that held the likeness of his 
Own, aged not by time but -by intensity, the. strong 
bent df his nature towfairds'a reverential tenderness 
asserted itself above ewery other impression, and in 
his most fervent tone hfi' siid — 

*^ Mother ! take us M into your heart — the living 
and the dead. Forgive everything that hurts you 
in the pglst. Take my affection." 

She looked at him. admiringly rather than Jov- 
ingly, then kissed. iiim on the brow, and saying 



354 DANIEL DEaoNDA: ; 

sadly, "I reject :^King, brit I hav^ nothing 16 
give/^ Khe 'released his.' hand arid isaflKk back on her 
cushions. Deroiida. turned pale with what seems 
always more of b sensation; i than an emotion^-^the 
pain of repulsed tenderness^ Bke noticbd the ex- 
pression of painy and said, still with melodious 
melancholy in her tones— ' f . ! 

" It is better so. We mrist pait again ^soon, and 
you owe me' no duties. I did not wisk< yot to be 
bom. I parted with you wjllmgly,. ' When your 
father died, I resolved ' that I wolild have no more 
tifes, but 'sueh as "I could free myself from. I was 
the' Alcharisi yon have heard ofiithe naibe had 
]*aagiG wherever it waisr carried. Men courtdd me. 
Sir Htigo Mallinger was one who wished to marry 
me. He was madly in loiv4 with m^. . One day I 
a^ked him; ^ Is there a man capable of dx^ing some- 
thing for love of tne, and expecting nothing in 
return?' He said, ^ What is it you want done?' 
I said, * Take my boy and > bring him tip as an Eng- 
lishman, and let him never 'know anything about 
his parents.^ You were little mote -than two years 
old, and were sitting on his' foot. '• He declared that 
he" would pay money tb have' such a boy. I had 
not' meditated much on 'the plan' beforehand, "but as 
sodb as I had spoken iabouti*, it took" possession of 
me as something I could not rest without doing. 
At first he thought I was niot serious, but I con- 
vinced him, and he was never surprised at anything. 
He agreed that it would be for your good, and the 
finest thing for you. A great singer and actress is 
a queen, but she gives no royilliy to her son.— All 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 355 

that happened at Naples. And afterwards. I naade 
Sir Hugo the trustee of your fortune. That is what 
I did; and I had a. joy. in doing it. My father had 
tyrannised over me — he carQ^ more about a grand- 
son to ooime, than he did about, me; I counted as 
nothing. * You were . to be such a Jew as he ; you 
were to be what he .wanted,: But you yf^re. xdj. 
son, imd it was my tm|i to; say what you shpi;ild 
be. I said you shipiald not . know you were a Jew." 

" And for months events have b^en prepaying me 
to be glad that I amoj J^w/* said Derojici^, his op^ 
position roused ag^n,; The point touched the, quick 
of his. experience. * * Jt wp^ild always hayp been bejt^^j" 
that I should have k^own the truth. I have «^lway^ 
been rebelling against the secrecy that looj:eid like 
shame. It is no. shame to have Jewish paj:enta-— : 
the shame is to disown it.'' 

." You say it was a.shaiiie to me, then, that 1 ijsed 
that secrecy," said his mother, with a flash Qf new 
anger. " There is no shame" attaching to me, I 
have no reason to be ashamed. I rid myself of the 
Jewish tatters and gibberish that make people nudge 
each other at sight of us, ab if we were tattoed under 
our clothes, though our &ces are as whole as; theirs, 
I delivered you from the pelting contempt that pur- 
sues Jewish separateness. • I am not ashamed that I 
did it. It was the better for you.7 

" Then why have you now undone the secrecy ? — r 
no, not undone it — the effeot$ will never be undone; 
But why have you now dent for ine to tell me that I 
am a Jew ? " said Derondci, with an intensity of op- 
position iu feeling that was almost bitter. It ^edmefl 



3"5'6 ■ * DANIEL DEKONDAv '■ 

as if her words had called oUt a lalent obstinacy of 
rade in him. i 

"Why?-— ah, why?" said the Frinceiis; rising 
quickly and walking to the other side of the room, 
where she turned roiind and slowly appro^-ched him, 
as he, too, stood up.- Then ' sh^ b^gan to speak 
again in a more veiWd • v6ice. •"! oan*t Explain; 
t can only say wh^it is. I don't love niy feither's 
religion now any more than I dixi then. Before I 
married the second time- I was baptised; I made 
myself Kke the people ' i lived among. I had a 
right to :d(i it ; I was not like a'binitfe, obliged t6 go 
wilih toy bwn herd. I hav^-' iiot repented; I will 
n6t sfty that I have repe'nted:- " Btit 'yet," —i- here 
she had come near to her' son; and pansed ; <)hert 
again i^treated a little and stdod still, as if resolute 
not to give way utterly fb art imperious influence 5 , 
but; als she Went oh speaking; she became more and 
]41ore unconscious of anythittg- but the aWe that sub- 
dued her Voice. " It is illtiess, I don't doubt that 1* 
has been gathering illness, ^-^my triind -ha^ gone back; 
more than a year ago it feegaii. ! You see my grey 
hair^ my worn lodkr* it has all oom0 Kkst.' Some- 
times I am in an agony of pain— T diaresay I shall 
be to-night. Then it is as- if all the life! have 
chosen to live, all thoughts, all will; forsook nie and 
left me alone in spots bf mf^mdry, and I can't get 
away: my pain seems to kfeep tnre there. My child- 
hood — my girlhood-^the day of my marriage — the 
day of my father's death-^— there ftefems to be nothing 
since. Then a great harror comes over me t what 
do I know of life or death ? and what mv father 



BOOK VII. THE MOrHEft AND THE SON. 857 

called * right* mhy be a powei^ that is layiiig hol^ of 
me — ^that is olutchiiig me now. Well, I Will eatisfy 
him. I cannot go into the darkness vrithont satisfy- 
ing him. I hare hidden 'what was his. I thought 
once I would bnm it. I hare ndt' burnt it. f thank 
God I hare not burnt it !" " >: 

6h6 threw hetself on her icushioils again, visibly 
fatigued. Derohdi, Inored tbo strongly by her suffer- 
ing for other impulses to act within hitri, drew neat 
her, and Said, entreatirigly — /::*:.- 

" Will you not spare yourself* this eteniug V Let 
us leave the rest till.to-ihorrow.'* 

" No," she said, decisirely. " I will c6nfes» it' all, 
now that I have come up to it. " 'Often Wheii I dm at 
ease it lall fades away ; my whol^ self coikies quite 
back ; but I know it will sink away againj and th^ 
other will dome — the poor, sblitai^y, forsakefi remains 
of self, that can resist nothing. It Wafe my nature 
to resist, and say, ^ I hare a right to resist;*^' Well, 
I say so still when I hare any strength in toe. Yon 
have "heard me s^y it, aiid I don't Withdraw it. But 
when my strength goes, some othei^ tight forces it- 
self upon me like iron in an inexorable hand ; and 
even when I am at ease, it is beginning to* make 
ghosts upon the daylight. And now you hare made 
it worse for me," she said, with a sudden r^turriof 
impetuosity; "but I shall hstre told' you er^rythin^. 
And what reproach is there against mi3,'' she addetl, 
bitterly, " since I have made you glad to be a Jew? 
Josf'ph Kalonymos reproached me : he said you had 
been turned into a proud Englishman, wh6 rese-iit^d 
being touched by a Jew. I wish you had J '^' she 



358 < • DANIEL DERONDA» 

ended, with a new marvellous alte^rpation. It w^is 
as if h0r jpaiind.w,Qre breaking into .^ev^ral, one jar- 
ring thQ oth^v ii^tp impulsive, action,, . , . 

, " Whojis Joseph JKalon;y^mos ? " said.Deronda, with 
a d^irtijig . recollection of that Jew who to?;ched,.his 
arm in the Frankfort synagogue. 

, *^ Ah I;,. some vengep,nce sent him back ^rom the 
East, thdft hie might se^ you and.; come to reproa|cl| 
me,. Hcf .was; piy father's friend. . E[e. kney of you^ 
birth: he knew of my husband's death, and once, 
twenty years ago,; after, he had been away in the 
Levant, he came to see me and inquire abopt you. I 
1fpld:hi;n..1jhatyo>i were dead: I meant you to be, dead 
to 2^.11 the world of my childhood. Jf I had said you 
w^re^ hyi??g, he would have interfered with my plans: 
he wpuld.thave tak;en on- hini to represeujt jfff father, 
and hav^ tried to mafce me recall what 1 had done. 
Wh^.t QpuldjI dp but say you w^re dead? The 
act ,"vvas' done., If I had told him of it there would 
have b^ein, ti;puhle and scandal-p-^nd all to con.quer 
fl^, wl]io ' w<:«uld ,?iot have- been, coiiqupred, . ,1, was 
strong, thqn, apd I w.ould have had my will,, though 
.there n^igjht have been, a hard fight against me. I 
,toqk. the way: to have it without any fight. . I felt 
•theix that I was not really deceiving: it would, have 
•jcome to. the jsame in the end ; pr if not, to the same, 
tQ.^som^tliing worse. , He belie veji me, and, begged 
that I would give up to him the chest that my father 
had.c^^argqdf me and my husband ,to deliver to our 
{ei^ept sqp^ I knew wliat was in the chest— ^things 
that had.bc§n dinned in my eara since I had had any 
liuderstarndi^^g — things that were thrust on my mind 



BOOK VII. ^Ttifi MOTHEfo ASl!> THE SON. 859 

that I might feel thrfm like a wall around- my' life-i-^ 
my life that wa& growing like a trte. Ofice^ after' 
my hiisband died, I wafi gbing to fcrttVft the cbe«t. 
But It Was difficult to bttrii ; and barhing a diest 
and papers ' looks' lik^ ' a ' shamefb} act. I haW 
coimnitted no shamefbl act — except what JewB 
would call ehameftiL I had kept the chesH, and 
I gave it to Joseph' Kalonymod;' He weftt atray 
mournful, iind sJaid, fif youmariy again, and' i^ 
another grandson is born* tb him who is departed, 
I will deliver up the cJhest to him.* I bowed iri 
silence. ' T ineairit not" to marrV again— no iiiore 
than I" meant to be thtd* shattered = wotaian that I 
am now.** ' 

She ceased speaking, and her head '6a*nfc back 
While she lookM Taguel^)- befoi^e he*!*. "Het- thought 
was travelling through the years, and when 'she 
began to fepeak aigairi her voice held lost its argu- 
mentative spiiit, and had fallen- into a* veiled' totoe 
of distress. ' ■ i ; •<{ 

"But months a^o this* Ral^nymos^sttwyott in 
the ''synagogue at 'Frankf(#t:' ' His 'riaij^ -yorn' ehtteft 
the hotel, and he Went to ask' j^our natne; 'There 
Was nobody else in the world to whoiiA the nam^ 
would have told anything about nie." • 

'"Thefn it is not my real name*?" said Deronda,' 
with a 'difelike even to this trifling part of the dis- 
guise which had been thrown found him. ; i 

"Oh, as real as another,'" said his motherj indiffer- 
ently. " T\\e Jews have always been chaiiligin^ then* 
ntoesl.' My fkthet'g family had ' kept tlie n^me' of 
Charisi': my husband was a Charisi When I oam^ 



360 DANIBti DEBONPA. 

out las a. singer,; we loade it;.Aicb8^rie)i. But ik^re 
had heexh a bi:aacii of the. family ^ny father h^dlost 
sight of. who (Called thel»6.elye^ DeroiM^, and y^rhen I 
waidted a iia«ie for you, ^nd . §ir 'Hugo, said, * Let }t 
be .a foreign name,' I thought of Deronda. But 
J(;«3e(ph ,K#loiayinpB had, hejaijd, my fq,ther speak of 
Ihe Deronda branch, land the .name cpnfirmed his 
8U^ipioa?i. He bega^ to snajpiect what bad been 
^i]|e* ; It. wa^ as if everything had been whispered 
t0 him in the air, H^ found ont whe?-e I was. He 
took a journey into Russia, to see mp ; he found me 
wea)^ aQd slxattexed. ,He hfd come, back again, with 
his \Yi|it© hairy and with rage in his. soul against nae. 
He said I was going down to the grave clad in false- 
hood and.roblpqry — falsehood to my father and rob- 
bery of my own cWld, He acci^sed me of having 
k0pt the knowledge, of yonr birth from you, and hav- 
ing broi^ght. you up as if jon had been the son of an 
English igentleman. . Well, it w^s true ; and twenty 
years before I would have maintained that I had a 
Tight to dp, it,. But I can maintain nothing. now. 
Np&itjU is #jrong jwithin m.e. My father may haye 
God,"Cn his iSfide*, TWs man's wqrda were like lion's 
teeth npon jne. ..My father's threats eat into me with 
my pain. If I tell everything — if I deliver up ^very- 
tMjp^g-^what else can be .demanded, of me ? I cannot 
mpike-myBelf Jove, the people I have never loved — 
is it not enough that I lost the lif^ I. did love?" ; 

She had lean^ed forward a little in her low-toned 
pleading, that seemed like a fmothei:ed cry : her 
arms and handp were stretched out at full length, 
as J if styp-ined iu beseeching., Jjeronda's soul was 



BOOK Vn. — THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 361 

absorbed in the anguish ^of compasfiioni He oould 
hot mind-now that he had been- tepuked befora 
His pity me^de a flbod of fo(FgiYKie8fl::'within him* 
His single impiilse was to kn^l by bier and) taJke 
her hand gently between his palms, while hj& said 
in that eixquisite voice of eodthuag' which expojesses 
oneneBS with the snififarer^ — 

" Mother) take comfort I " 

She did not seem inclineid to repul$e hii» ^i^w^ bvU 
looked down. at him and let him take both her hands 
to fold between hia. Gradnally teara gathered, but 
she pressed her heoidkerohief against het eyest.and 
then leaned her ^heek against bis brow, as if she 
wished that they should not look At ^^fih other, 
r "Is it liot. possible that I could be near yo\k often 
and comfort you?" said. I>eronda. He was T?n4et 
that stress of pity that pifop^ls us on sacrifices. . 

" No, not possible," she answered, lifting tip t^x 
head again and withdrawing her hatidiiap if, she 
wished him to move away. " I have :a httsbapd and 
five chihjren* None of them knc^r of your exi^tepajc©," 

Deronda felt painfully silencjei He rpse and/Stood 
at. a little di$tance. ; . / ; 

"You wonder why I married," shje went on pre- 
sently, under the influence of a [newly -recurring 
thought, "I meant neyer to marry again., I 
meant to be free, and to live for my art. , I had 
parted with you. I had, no bonds. For ninft year^ 
I was a queen. I enjoyed th^ life I l^ad . longed' for. 
But «omethi^g befell me, . It \yas like ,a fit of forget- 
fiilness* I began tp sing, out of tune. TUey told 
me of it. Another woman was tlu'u^ting herself in 



S^^ ' ' DANIEL DERONDA* 

iny plade. I could not endure the prospect of failut* 
and decline, it was 'horrible to me." Sba started 
up again/ with a shudder, and lifted scireening handd 
like one who /dreads missiles. " It drove me- to 
m«rrjj I made believe that I preferred being the 
wife of a Kussian laoble to being the greatest lyrio 
actress of Europe; I made believe— ^I' acted that 
part. It was because I felt my greatness sinlnng 
^way/firom me, as I feel my life sinking now. I 
would not wait till tnen said, * She had better go.' " 

She sank into her seat again, and looked at the 
evening sky as ^he went on : "I repented. It was 
a resolve taken in' desperation. That singing out 
of tune was only like a fit of illness ; it welit away* 
I repented; but it was too late. I could not go 
back: All things hindered me — all thitigs." 

A new haggardness had come in h'er ikee; but heif 
'son refrained froni agiain urging her to leave further 
speech till > the morrow : there was Evidently some 
mental relief for her in an outpouring such as she 
could n^ver have allowed herself before. Be stood 
still ^while she maintained silence longer 'than 'she 
knew, and the light was perceptibly fading;' At 
lasif !§he turned to him and said — 

'"'I cah liefir no more noW." She put out her 
hand, but then quickly withdrerw it saying, "Stay. 
How do I know that I c^n see you again ? I cannot 
bear to be seen wlien I am in pahi." 
• She drew forth a pocket-book, and taking out a 
letter said, ^^ This is addressed to the britiking-house 
in Mainz, where you are to go for your 'grandfether's 
chest. It is a letter written by Joseph kalonymos : 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 363 

if he is not there himself, this order of his will be 
obeyed." 

When Deronda had taken the letter, she said, with 
effort, but more gently than before, " Kneel again, 
and let me kiss you." 

He obeyed, and holding his head between her 
hands she kissed him solemnly on the brow. " You 
see I had no lifa leift td Tbveiyoti With," she said, in 
a low murmur. " But there is more fortune for you. 
Sir Hugo was to keep it in, res wye. I gave you all 
your, father's fortune. They ca"!! never accuse me of 
robbery there." 

" If you had needed anything I would have worked 
for yott," said Deronda, corisciditfe of a'disj^ppointed 
yearning — ^a shutting (mi hv ever from biig early 
vistas of affectionate itaaginatibil.' ^ 

" I need nothing that the skill of man can give 
me," said his mother, still holding his head, and 
pertising his features. ' ^^ But pei^aps liOM^ I 'ha,ve 
satisfifed my fether's will, yoiir face will oome iaislieaA 
of 'his — ^yoUr young, lovitjtg fnoe;" 

"But you will see me agaiti?'' mid. Derondsl^ 
anxi6u8ly. ; i 

" Yes— perhaps. Wait, wait; L^t^e ni^ now/' 



364 



CHAPTER LIL 



- " La itidme f(srmet6 qni sert ft rdsister ft Tainoiir seit anssl 4 1« rehdire 
violent et durably ; et le? p^^onnes foibles qui sont toujoun agit^s det* 
passions n'en sont presque jamais vSntablement rempUes."— La Rochen 

FOUCAULD. 



Among Detonda's letters, th^ next morning* was o^e 
from Hans Meyriofc of four quarto pages, 1q the 
small beautiful handwriting: which ran in the Me-y- 
riqk family. 

.,JW[Y.DE>AR-DEBOKPA,—Iii return for your skietoh of 
I^taliani movements.: and your view of the world's 
aflfairs generally, I may say that here at home ithe 
moat judicious opinion going, as to the effects of 
present causes is that " time will show," Ab to 
the .present causes of past effects^ it is now. seen 
that the late swindling telegrams account for the 
last year's cattle plague — which is a refutation of 
philosophy falsely so called, and justifies the com- 
pensation to the farmers. My own idea that a 
murrain will shortly break out in the commercial 
class, and that the cause will subsequently disclose 
itself in the ready sale of all rejected pictures, has 
been called an unsound use of analogy; but there 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AKD THE SON. 366 

dre minds that will not hesrtatie to i rob even the 
neglected painter of his solaoe. To my feeling 
there is great beauty in the conception that some 
bad judge might give a high price for my. Beremdde 
series, and that the men in the city woiild have 
already been punished for my ill-mierited. Inefc. 

Meanwhile 1 am consoling myipelf for your absence 
by finding my adyantage in it — 'shining like Hespe- 
rus when Hyperion has departed^-^sitting with ourj 
Hebrew prophet, and making a study of his head, 
in the hours- when he ussed to be occupied with you 
-—getting credit with him as a learned young 
Gentile, who would have been a Jew if; he could 
— ^and agreeing with :him in the general principle, 
that whatever is best is for that reason Jewish. 
I never held it my forte to be ■ a severe reasoner, 
but I can see that if whatever is best is A and B 
happens to be best, B must be A, however little 
you might have expected it beforehand. On that 
principle, I could see the fortse of a pamphlet I once 
i«ad io. prove that all good art was Protestant. 
However, our prophet is an uncommonly interesting 
sitter — a better model than Kembrandt had for his 
Rabbi — and I never come away from him without 
a new discovery. For one thing, it is a constant 
wonder to me that, with all his fiery feeling for his 
race and their traditions, he is no strait-laced Jew, 
spitting after the word Christian, and enjoying the 
prospect that the Gentile mouth will watfer in vain 
for a slice of the roasted Leviathan, while Israel 
will be sending up plates- for more, ad libitum, (You 
perceive that my studies had taught me what to 



366 DANDEIi DERONDA. 

expect from the orthodox Jew.) I confess, that- 1 
have always held lightly by your account of Mor- 
deoai; a& apologetic, and merely part of your disposi- 
tioni to take an antediluvian point of view lest you 
should do injustice to the. megatherium. But now, 
I have givien ear to him in his proper person, I firid 
him really a sort of philosophical-allegorical-mystical 
believer, and yet with a sharp dialectic point, sd 
that any argumentative rattler of peas in a bladder 
might soon be pricked into silence by him. The 
mixture may be one of the Jewish prerogatives, for 
what I know. In feict, his mind seems so broad ^ 
that' I find, my own correct opinions lying in it quite r 
coinmodioTisly,. and how they are to be brought into 
agreement with the vast remainder is his afifoir, not 
mine. I leave it to him to settle our basis, never 
3^et having seen! a basis which is not a world*support- 
ing elephant, more or less powerful and expensive 
to ikeep. My means will not allow me to keep a 
private elephant. I go into mystbry instead, as 
cheaper and more flasting^-a sort of gas which is 
likeiy to be continually supplied by the decomposi* 
tioii of the elephants. And' if I Kke the look of an 
opiiiioM', I -fireat it civilly, without suspicious in* 
quiries. > I have quite a friendly feeling towards 
Mordncai's notion that a whole Christian is. three- 
fourths a Jew, and that from the Alexandrian time 
downward, the most ootaprehensive minds have been 
Jewish;. for I think of pointing out to Mirah that, 
Arabic ^nd othei' accidents of life apart, there is 
roall}' little difference between me and — Maimon- 
ides. But I have lately been finding out that it is 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 367 

yoni" shallow lover who can't help making a declara- 
tion. If Mirah'S ways were less' distracting, and it 
were less of a heaven to be in her -presence and 
watch her, I must' long ago have fluttg riiydelf ttt her 
feet, and requested her to tell 'me, with lesB indirept- 
ness, whether she wished me' to 'blow dybriins out. 
I have a knack of hoping, which is as good as an? 
estate in reversion, if one iiali keep from the tempta* 
tion of turning it into certainty, whibh may spoil all. 
My Hope wanders among the ^or(Afird-bloss6mB, feels 
the warm snow falling on it through the' sunshine, 
and is in doubt of nothing; but, catching sight of 
Certainty in the distance, sees an ugly Janius-faced! 
deity, with a dubious "wink on the hither side of 
him, and turns quickly away. But you, with, your 
supreme reasonableness, and self- nullification, and 
prepa:^ation for the worst-^-you know nothing about 
Hope, that immortal deMoiou^ maiden, for' ever 
courted, for ever propitious, whom fools have called 
deceitful, as if it were Hope that^carribd the cup 
of disappointment, whereas it is her deadly enemy 
Certainty, ' whom she Only escapes by transformaP 
tion. (You observe my new vein . of allegory ?) 
Seriously, however, I must be permitted to aUeg^ 
that truth will prevail, that prejudice will melt 
before it, that diversity, accompaniefd by merit, Wili 
make itself felt as fascinati6n, and that no virtuous 
aspiration will be frustrated-^— all which, if I mistake 
not, are doctrines of the schools, and all 'imply that 
tie Jewess I prefer will prefer me. Any blockhead 
can cite generalities, but the master-miind discerns 
the particular cases they represent. '••' • 



570 ' DAiNIEL DEBONDA. 

was. a fellow I .lased to meet at Eome who was ia an 
efferresceiie^ of snrprise .at oontact with the sim* 
plest infomnatioii. Tell him what you would— that 
you weie fond of .easy> boots-*— he would always say, 
" No '! are • you ? " with the :same energy of wonder : 
the very fellow of whom pastoral Browne wrote 
propheticaUy? — .. :!. 

: I . •"A'^etch soeibpty tliktife'er-iSerebe 

. j^ , . IiHiftturci^fouud the,Jeast.yapuity 
,. 'Twill be in him.'* 

I have acoouhted for it /all — he had a lively spine. (;^ 
! How'ever, this cousinship with, the duchess came 
put by chan^Jje one day that Mirah was with thm 
at home and they were talking about the Mallingerifek 
Apropos; I am getting so important that I have 
iJival inivitatioiiBi • Gasooigne wants me to go down 
witJi him to his father's rectory in August and see 
the country, round there. But I think self-interest 
well undersixiod will take me to Tapping Abbey, for 
Sir Hugo has invited me^ and. proposes — God bless 
him for his rashness !— that I should maJce a pibtUiFe 
,of. his three daughters sitting on :a bank— 'as ihe 
siys, ill the Gainsborough style.. He came .to iny 
studio thie other-day and recoimitaeiaxijed me; to. apply 
niyselfto portrait.' Of ;oourse Ii knoiw what that 
m^ans. — h f' My i good ifellow, your attempts . at the 
historic' and poetic are ^mply pitiable. / Your brush 
iis jufet that of a successful portrait^paintei* — it has a 
little truth and a gifeat facility in falsehood — -your 
idealism will never, do for gods -and goddesses and 
lieroic story, 43ut it inay fetch a Mgh price as flat- 
tery.: Eate, my friend, has made you the hinder 



BOOK A^ir. THE MOTHER A'bfT) THE SON. 371 

wheel — rota posWrior eunras, et in axe securidd — tnti 
behind, because yon (ian't lielp iti"-^Wlaat; gireat 
effort it e\'idently costs bur friiendg to give'^as^thiese 
caiidid opiniondl I haVe ' even • known a' mati takte 
the trouble to call, in order to tell tne thai'T'lhad 
irretrievably exposed nly w^nt of judgment ik treat- 
ing my subject; and that if I had asked him he 
would have lent me his own judgment. Sufch was 
my ingratitude and my readiness at composition, 
that even while he was sneaking I' inwardly- sketched 
a Last Judgment with that candiA fHehd's ^hySi6g- 
nomy on the left. But all thi^'is'aw^y froin'Sir 
Htigo, whose manner of implying tliat bUe^ft gifts 
are not of the highest order is So exceediiigly good^ 
liatured and comfortable that I begin to feel it an 
ak^antage not' tb be among those poor fellows «tt the 
tip -top. And his'kindAes6 to me tasted all the 
better because it comes out of his love for you', 6ld 
boy. His chat is uncominbnly amusing. By th^ 
way, he told me that your 'Vkndyke duchess is gone 
with her husband yachtiilg "to the iRTediteri-anean. 
r bethink me that it is possible ■ to larid • from a 
yacht, or to be taken on to a' yacht fr6m the land; 
Shall you by chance 'have an opportunity of con- 
tinuing your theological discussicfn with' the fair 
SupralapsariaU — I think you 'said hbr tenets wer^ 
of that complexion ? Is Duke Alphonso also theo- 
logical? — perhaps an Arian who objects to triplicity. 
(Stage direction. While D. is ' reading, a prbfdiind 
sbbrn gathers ili his face till at the last w6rd he 
flings doWn the leftter, grasps his coat -collar^ 'in a 
statuesque' attitude &,nd so remains -^ith a look 



372 . . PAi^IEL DERONPA. 

ganerg^lij tremendotie, tb;roughQiit the following 
soliloqTiy;, "0 night, blackness, &c. &o.") 
, Bxoi^se , the brevity of this letter. You are not 
iiSQd tci naore ^ojn me than a bare statement of feptp, 
Iw^itJiQiit. cpmineipLt, or digression. One facjft I hay^ 
omittejj^ — that the Klesmers pn the eve of departiwe 
have behaved magnificently, phining forth as might 
be expected^ from the planets, of geni,u8 aad fortune 
in conjvinotion, Mirah is rich with their oriental gifts. 
! What luqk it will be if ypu pome back and present 
yourself at the Abbey while I am there! I am 
going to behave with consummate discretion and 
win gol4pn opinions. Put I shall run up to towa 
now. and then, just foj: a peep into Gan Eden. You 
pee how far I have got in Hebrew lore — up with 
my .Jjojd Bolingbroke, who knew no Hebrew, but 
" understood that sort of learning and what is writ 
p,bout it." ^f Mirah commanded, I would go tp a 
depth below the tri-literal roots. Already it makes 
no difference to me whether the points are there pr 
not. But while her brotheir's life lasts I suspect. sh© 
would not listen to a lover, even otne whose "hair 
is like a flpck pf goats on -Mount Gilead" — and I 
flatter myeieJjf . that fe^ heads would bear that trying 
compftiison , better than mine. So I stay with i^y 
hope among the orchard-blossoms. — Your devoted 

Hans Meiyrick. 

SoT^e months before, this letter from Hans would 
hav^ divided Deronds^'s thoughts irritatingly : its 
romancing about Mirah would have had an unpleas- 
ant edge* Rparcely anointed with any commisera- 



BOOK VII. THE .MQTHEBi AJUD THE SON. 37.3 

tion for his &iend's pro})able disappointments But 
things bad altered ^iloe March. 'Mirsuh ww no 
long«ir ISO critically placed, with regwrd to the Mey- 
rioks, and Deronda'ft own position; had beeti. under- 
going a change which had just been crowned; hiy. th^ 
lOTBlatioi]: of hiB bfrth* The ftewi openings tdrwards 
the future, though ha:would not tnofltin any iJefinite 
yieions, inevitably shed n«:W lights, and influenced 
his '.mood towaords past and present 5 herice, what 
Hans called, his hope ilow seemed to Deronda, not 
a mischievous unreasdnableness which roused his 
indignation, but an unusually persistent bird»danoe 
of '.an extravagant f^ncy, and he wouJd hal/te felt 
quite able to pity any conseiquent suffering of Jtt$ 
ftiend's, if he had beliBved in the. suffering as pro* 
bable. . But some o£ th^ bufty thought filling that 
long day, which passed without his^ receivings any 
new summons from , his mother,, was giwen to the 
argument that Hans Meyrick's nature waS' not oni^ 
m which love could strike the deep aroots tha* turn 
disappointment into sorrow : it was too restless, too 
readily excitable by novelty, too ready to turn itself 
into imaginative material, and ' wear its grief as a 
fantastic costume. " Already be ' is beginning to 
play at love : he is taking the whole af&ir as a 
comedyi" said Deronda to himself; "he knows very 
well that there is no chance for him. Just like hin^ 
—never opening his eyes on any possible objection 
I couMliave to receive his outpoui^ings aboijit Mir,ah. 
Poor old HansI' If we were Under a fiery hail to- 
gether he would howl like a Gre^k, and if I did not 
howl too it would never occur to him that I was afi 



374 DANIEL DERONDA. 

badly off as he.' And yet he is tender-hearted and 
affectidoate in intention, and I oan't say that he is 
not active in imagining what goes on in other people 
— 'but then he 'always imagines' it to fit Jbis-owii 
inclitiition."' ' 
• With this touch" of catisticity Deronda got rid of 
the slight heat at present raised! by Han»?s " natiia 
expansiveness* The nonsense about Gwendolen, 
conveying the fact that she Was gone yachting with 
her husband, only suggested a disturbing sequel^ io 
his own strange parting with her. But there was 
one seniTence in the letter which raised a more 
imtnediate, active anxiety,* Hans's suspicion of a 
hftdden sadness in Mirah was not in the directiop 
of his wishes, and hende; instead of distrusting his 
bbservatibn here, -Derondii began to conceive a-oiuse 
for the sadness, WdS* it' some eveht that had 
occurred during his absence, or only the '.growing 
fear of some event? > Was it sonielMng, perhaps 
alterable, in the ne^ position which had been- made 
for her? Or-^had Mordecai, against his habitual 
resolve, communicated to her those peculiar cheiJished 
hopes about him, Deronda, and had her quickly 
sensitive nature beein hurt by the discovery that her 
brother's will or tenacity of visiomary conviction had 
acted coetcively on' their friendship— been hurt by 
the feat that there was moro of pitying self-suppres- 
sidh than of equal regard in Deronda^s gelation to 
him'?' For amidst aU ■ Mirah's quiet renunciation^ 
the^ievident thirst of sotil wil^ which she received 
the tribute of equality implied a corresponding paiu 
if she found that what she had tdken for a purely 



BOOK Vn. ^THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 375 

Teveiential regard towards her brother had its mix- 
tare of oondeBcension. /.;.(. 

In this last eonjectrire of Deronda's >he was not 
wrong as to the quality in Mirah's- nattire on .whioh 
he was founding— the latent protest against the 
treatment 'she had all her life beisn 'subfect t© 
until she met him. For. that gratitiide. which 
would not let her pass by any notice of thiair 
acquaintance without insisting on the depth of 
her debt to him, took half its fervour 'from the 
keen comparison with what others had • thought 
enough to render to her. Deronda's i affinity in 
feeling enabled him to penetrate such setrets. 
But he was' not near the truth in ' admilting the 
idea that Mordecai had - broken hig chamoteristio 
reticence. To no soul but Deronda himself had 
he yet breathed the history of their relation to 
each other, or hifi confidence aTwut hisJfriejnd's 
origin: it was not only that these subjects were 
for him too sacred to be spoken of without weighty 
reason, bat that he had discerned Deronda- s shrink- 
'ing at any mention of his birth'; and the Beverity of 
reserve which had hindered Mordecai from AhB#ei> 
ing' a question on a private affair of the iCoHen 
femily told yet more strongly here. • J .' ' 

" E^ra, how is it/? " Mirah one day saidi to him — 
" I am continually going to speak to Mr -Deronda as 
if he were a Jew?" 

He smiled at her quietly, and said, ** I suppose it 
is because he treats us as if he were our brotheap. 
Bat he loves not to have the difference of birth 
dwelt upon." 



376 ' DANIEL DERONBA. 

" He has nevbr . lived with his parents,. Mr Hans 
says," continued Mirah, to whom thiei was neoee- 
sarily «, qiies^ibn of. interest ciboiit ^vkry one for 
whom siiej'fhad a regard. 

" Seek not i to kusowisuch things from Mr Hans," 
said Ijlbrdeeai, gravely^ laying his hand on her 
carls, as . hie was wont. " What Daaael Deronda 
wished us . to know about himself is for. hxm to 
ibellt US'.'-' '■ . 

And' Mirah felt herself rebuked, iafe Deronda had 
done. But to be rebuked in this way by^Mordeoai 
made hfer> rather proud. » .i ;i, 

"I see no one so great as my btothcar," she. said 
to Mrs ;Meyrick one day that i^e calkd -at the! Gl»6l- 
sea homse bn her w«y hbmej land, aecoi^ding to her 
ii^pe, found the little mother alone; ^^It is difficuk 
to think: that ;he belongs to the samewojrld ais those 
people: I used to live amongst^ I told you once that 
they made life seem like a madhouse ; btit when I 
am with Ezra hei makes me feelthat hie life is a 
^at good, though he has suffered sd miiich ; not 
like: iDae, who wanted to die because I had suffered 
a liittl©, and only. for a little while. His soul is. so 
full, it i^ . iitiposfiible for him to wish for death as 
I did. I get the saima sort of feeling from him 
thafc'I got yestetday, when I WES tired, and came 
home thi^ough the park after the sweet »ain hdd 
fallen and the sunshine lay on the grass and flowers. 
EYeryi^iing in the sky and under the sky looked so 
.pure ahd beautiful that the weariness emd trouble 
and 'folly seemed only a small part of .whiat is, and 
I became more patient and hopeful." '^ i 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 377 

A dove. -like note of meilancholj in this speech 
eaused • Mrs Meyriok to look at Mirab with new 
examination. After laying down her hat and 
pushing her curls flat, with an- air of fatigue, 
she had placed herself on a chair opposite her 
friend in her habitual attitiide, her ftet and hands 
just crossed ; and at a distance she might have 
seemed a coloured statue of serenity.i But Mrs 
Meyrick discerned a new look of supprefieed . su^ 
fering in her face, which correfeponded to the hint 
that to be patient and hopeful required some extra 
influence. 

"Is there any fresh trouble on; your minid, mj 
dear ? " said Mrs Meyrick, giving up her needlework 
as a sign of concentrated attention. ; 

Mirah hesitated before she said, *f I: am too ready 
to speak of troubles, I think. It seems unkind to 
put anything painful into other people's minds, un- 
less one were sure it would hinder something worsei. 
And perhaps I am too hasty and fearful." 

" Oh, my dear, mothers are made to like pain and 
trouble for the sake of their children. Is it bedonse 
the singing lessons are so Ibwj and are likely to fail 
off when the season comes to an end? Success 'in 
these things can't come all at once." Mrs Meyrick 
did not believe that she was touching the real grief; 
but a guess that could be corrected' would make an 
easier channel for confidence. 

:' "No,. not that," said: Mirah, shaking her head 
:gently. " I have been a little disappointed becaiise 
so many ladies said they wiahti^d'me to give them dr 
their daugliters lessons j and th^n I nev€r heard/ of 
I VOL. II. N 



378 DANIBL DBRONiDA. 

them again. But perhaps after the holidays I Miall 
teach in son^e schools. Besides, you know, I (am as 
rich as a princess .now. : I have not touched, the 
hundred pounds tliat .Mrs Klesmer gave me; and f 
8hi)uld never be afraid that Ezra would be. in wwt 
of aiiythingj because there is Mr Derouda, and he 
said) Mt is, the chief honour of my life that your 
brother will share- atky thing with jiie.' Oh no ! 
Ezra and I can have no £Bars for each other abotrt 
such things as food and clothing." : i 

}^^ But there is some other fear on your mind," said 
Mrs Meyrick, not without divination — "a fear of 
something that may disturb j^our peibce ? Don't be 
forecasting evil, dear child, iunless it ib. what you 
can guard against. Anxiety, is good for. nothing if 
we can't turn; it inio a defence.; But there's no 
defence against adl .the ; things that might be. 
Have you any more' reaaoh. for being anxious 
now than you* had 'a ; mdiith ago ? ■' 

"Yes, I have," .said Mirfah*.. "I. have kept it 
£Bom Ezia. I have not dared to tell him. Pray 
fiurgive me that I can't do without telling you. I 
have more reason for being anxious^ It is five days 
ago now. I am quite sure I .saw . my father." 

Mrs Meyrick shrank .ii&to smaller space, packing 
her arms across "her chest and leaning forward — 
to hinder herself from pelting that iGsiither with her 
worst epithets. . • 

"The year has cbangfedi him J" Mirah went on. 
"iHe had already been much altered and worn in 
the time before I left him. You remember I said 
"how he used sometimes to cry. '. He im& alwag^B 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHBk: XKD THE SON. 379 

excited one 'way ot the bther. ' t have t61d Ezrtt 
everything that I told you, and he says that my 
father had taken to' gambling, which makes i]leople 
easily distressed, and then again exalted. And nbw^ 
---it was only a moment thgfct I saw him- — hi^face 
was more haggard, and his clothes "wetfe shabby. 
He was with' a much worse-looking ina'ii,'Wht)' carried^ 
something, atid they wen'ei hurrying alon^ aftei- 'all 
omnibtis.^ ' .• - /■ ' 

"Well, child, he did lidt'see you, I hope?"!' 
"No. I had ju^t come from' Mrs Raymond's, 
and I was waiting to cross near the Marble At-bh. 
^oon he wais oi tlie oinnibtis arid gojii^ oiit of sight. 
It was a dreadful moment. My old • life' seemed 
to have dome bact again, and it was wot-se than 
it had ever been' bfeforef. And I cduld' not helj^ 
feeling it 'a new deliven^ance that he was g;bne out 
of sight without kno\ving that! t«^^' there. And' 
yet' it hurt ihe^ that I ^s feeling iS6 — It- «ffeemfed 
hateful in me'-^ almost like -wdrde t once ha'd to 
speak in a play, that'll haA warineSd my hand§ in 
the blood ' bf ■ mf • itodred.* Fof * wllere might' my 
fathier be going ? What miay become of him ? Arid 
his having a' daughter who Would Wn him in spite- 
of all, might have hihdered the "worst.' IlS 'thfere 
any pam like seeing what ot^ht 'to be thfe best 
thiiigs in lifef turried into thfe woi^t? All'tho^e 
opposite feelings were meetitig'and pressing againist 
each other, and took 'up dll my strength: No one- 
could act that. A(5ting is slow and 'poot ' to what 
\fe gbf through wi-ihiti. I don't kriotv how" I iriiilled' 
a cab. I only remember that I was in it wheti I' 



380 DANIEL DBRONDA. 

l?egan;tp thinji:, 'I c^nnqt tell Ezra,;. he must not 

" You are afraid of grievipg ym ? " Mrs Meyrick 
asked, when Mirah had paused a, little, 

" Yea — ^and there ja eomething more," said Mirah, 
hesitatingly, as if, sh^ were examining , her feeling 
before 3hp would venture, to speak of it "I want 
to tell you ; I could not tell any one . else. I could 
not have told my own mother ; I should have closed 
it up before her. I feel shame for my father, and 
it ji^ perhaps strange. — but the: shame is greater 
before Ezra than before any one else, in the world. 
He desired me to tell him all about my life, and 
I obeyed him. But it i« always , like; a smart to 
me to know th^t (those, tilings, about my father are 
in ESzra's rtiipd. And — can you believe it?— rwhen 
the thought haunts ime how it would.be if my 
father were to cpme and show himself . before .us. 
both, what seems as if it woul<} scorch me most 
is seeing my father shrinking, before. Ezra. That 
is the truth. I dou't know wji>ether it is a right 
feeljng; But I cap't help tihu^Jting that I would 
rather try to maintain my f;|ther in secret, and 
bear a.grefit deal in, that; way, if I, could hinder 
him ffrofli meeting my brother." 

"Tou! must not ei;icoura,g!9 that feeling, Mirah,'' 
said Mrs Meyrick^ harStily. f'lt waxjld be very 
dangerous;, it would be wrong. .Tou must not 
have concealments of that sort." 

" But ought 'I now to tell Ezra that I have seen 
my fetl^er?" ssvjd lilirah, with deprecation in her 

t©n(^ ■■.•.;;. 



BOOK VII. THE' MOTHEB: AND THE SON. 381 

" No,!* Mrs Meyirick iansiwered, dubdtatively. " I 
don't k^ow that it is neoesBary to do that Y6ut 
father iXnay [go away with ;the birds. Itiis.not 
dear that he camb after. you; yon may rnev^r see 
him again. And /then youi brother will hafe been 
spared a useless anxiety. But promise me that 
if yotir father sees you— gets hold of you in any 
way. again —r- you 'WiU let ub all know* )Promise 
mei that solemnly, Mirah. I; have a right t6 ask 
it." ... ■ • • 

Mirah refleoted M little, then leaned forward to 
put her hands, iii Mrs Meyrick's, and said,' *^ Since 
you ask it, I do pk'omise. I will beiar this feelijajg 
of shame, I have been bo long used to think that 
I must bear that sort of inward, pain«; But the 
shame* for my fetheri bums me more, when I think 
of his tneeting Ezra*" S-iie tsras silent a moment 
or two, and then said, in: a new tone of yearning 
compassion," And we are his childrenrrrand be was 
once yDUUg'like us— i and my mother loved him^ 
Oh! I caiinot help seeing it all close,;and it hurts 
me like a cruelty." 

Mii9^ shed no tears : the discipline of her. whole 
life had been against indulgence in BUch. manifesta- 
tion, which soon falls undei* thiB control of strong 
motives; but it seemed that the more intense ex-i 
pression of soirrow hadeintered into her voicie. Mrs 
Meyrick, with all her quickness, and lovitig insight; 
did not quite understand that filial feeling in Mirah 
which had active roots deep below her indignation 
for the ; worst offences. . She could conceive that 
a mother would have a aiming pity mxd shame 



382 . DANIM> DEBONDA; 

for a reprobftt^ son, but she was but riF patience 
witK what she held aa exaggemted suwreptibility 
on behalf of this father, whose • reappearance in- 
chned'/her to wi«h him tinder the care of a torn- 
key. Mirah's promise, bowBver, wias - some s^ourvty 
against her weakpessk' 

That ^incident was the omly. reason that Mitah 
heraelf 'could hav^ stfiited for the: hidden sadness 
which Hans had divined. Of 'one element in her 
changed mood she could have given no definite 
account : it was something as dim as the sense of 
approaching weather -cb§inge, and : had extremely 
slight external prompting*, such as we are often 
ashamed to find all we-'Can allege in support of 
the busjjr oonstructionsi that go on within tte, not 
only Withoilt effort but even against it, ttrider the 
infln^ce of any blmd emotional stirring. • Perhaps 
the first' leaven of nneasinesis was laid by Gwen- 
dolen's behaviour on that Tisit which was entirely 
snperfiuoas as ^ means of engaging Mirnh to sing, 
and could have no other motive, than the excited 
and strange questioning about Deronda.- Mirah 
had' instinctively kept th^ visit a secret-, feat the 
activse remembrance of it had liaised a new 'suscep- 
tibility in her, and made her altve as she had never 
been before to the relations D^ronda must' h^ve 
with that society which she herself- wis getting 
frequent glimpses of without belonging to it. Her 
peculiar' life and education had produced in her 'an 
extraordinary mixture of unworldlineiBS',' with know- 
ledge of the world's evil, and even this knowledge 
was a strange blending of direct observation with the 



BOOK VII. THE M03(HBR AND THE SON. &^ 

eflfeot&[9f reading and tb^trical study.' - Hormemprj 
was furnished: with abundant- passionajte gituatix)» 
and intrigijiie, which sh^ never made en^otionally }ier 
own, but felt a repelled aloofaess fropt^ as ebe had 
done from the actfual life . around hor., . Soc^^e of 
.that imaginatiive knowledge began now to weaye 
itself .aroun>d Mrs Grandcourt ; ancj though Mirah 
W0UI4. admit no positioipL • likely to aifect hey Jrevei;- 
^nce for Derpndaj.she could not avoid a new pain,*- 
folly, vivid aBsociaftJon. of his gener^.1 life fwith a 
wo4d away fejomher own, whe>x^. there migjit be 
some involvement pf his feeling aT^d action ^prith 
a wom^ like Gwendolen, who was increasingly 
repugnai>t to her — r increaipingly, even after ^lJe 
had ceased to see her ; for liking and dislik;ingp 
can grow in nae^it^tiop. a^ fast as ifli ibhe mpre im- 
mediate ' kind of , preai^c^. Any disquietude oon- 
sciously due to the i4eia that Dqronda's dQepest 
care n^ight be for something rcffnote not only.firpoi 
herself but even from his friem^ship for her bro^hei', 
she would have, checked with, j-ej^uking questions,: 
-^Wtat was she but. one who, had share4 hisgei^eiv 
ous ki^id;i;Kess, with many others? ^d his attach- 
ment to her .brothe;r, was it :npt i^egun , lat^ to be 
soon ended ?; Other tiep had come before, and others 
would remain after this had been cut by awift-com- 
ing death. But , hey uneasiness had not reached 
that point of self- recognition in wh^ph she wpiild 
have been^ a,^l|iamed of i^ as an indirect, presuipp- 
tuous claim on Deronda's feeling^ That she or any 
one elfi^ should think of him. as her possible jLov^jr 
was a concjeptipn which had, ^ i^ever entered lier 



384 DANIEL DERONDA. 

tiiind ; indeed it was equally oiit of the question 
with =Mrs Meyrick arid the girls, who with Mirah 
herself regarded his intervention in her life as 
something exceptional, and were so impressed by 
his mission as her deliverer and guardian that they 
would have held it an offence to hint at his hold- 
ing any other* relation tOwatds her : a point of view 
which Hans also had readily adopted. It is a little 
hard upon some men that they appear to sink fot 
us in becoming lovers. But priBcisely to this in- 
ri6cence of the Meyricks was owing tAe disturbance 
of Mirah^s unconsciousness. " T^ie first occasion could 
hardly have been more trivia;l, but it prepared liar 
emotive nature for a deeper effect from What hap- 
pened afterwards, ^ 

It was when Anna Grascoigrie, visitirig the Mey- 
ricks, was led to speak of h^ cousinship with 
(rwendblen. The visit had been arranged that 
Anna might see Mirah ; the three girls were at 
home with theit mothisr, and there was naturally 
a flux of talk among six femitiine creatures, free 
froTCL the presence of a distorting male standard. 
Anna Gascoighe felt herself' much at home with 
the Meyrick girls, who knew what it was to have 
a brother, and to be generally regarded as of minor 
importance in the world; and she had told Eex 
that she thought the University very nice, because 
brothers made friends there whbse families were 
not rich and gi'and, arid fet (like the University) 
were very nice. Thd Meyricks seemed to her al- 
most alarmingly clever, and she consulted thena 
much on the bei^t mode of teaching Lotta, confid- 



BOOK VII. ^THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 38^ 

iqg to tiiem that she herself was the least • cleyer 
of her family, M^ah had lately come in, and there 
was a pomplete bouquet of young faces round, th© 
tea-table — Hafiz, seated a little aloft with large 
eyes- on the alert, regarding the whole scen^ as ^n, 
alpparatus for supplying his allowance of milk. , .; 

" Think of our surprise, Mirah," said Kate. " We 
were ; speaking of. Mr Deron^a and the Matlix^gers, 
and it tunis <^ut that Miss Gascoigne knows thetm.", 

"I only know about them," sai4 Anna, a little 
flufitied ^vrith excitemejit, what she h^d heard an^ 
BOW saw of . the lorely Jewess being r; an ahnost 
startling novelty to her. " I have noit ^yen s^en 
theiou. But some months ^o, my. cousin* married 
Sir IJJugo Mallinger's wephewr Mr Gra^dcQurt, who, 
lived in Sir Htigo's place at Diplow, near us.," , , 

^* Hiere ! " exdaimed Mab, clasping her hands. 
** Something must oome of thaii Mr8.Gi:and9ourt, 
the Vandyke duchesSy is youj cousin?" • i. 

*^ Oh yes; I was her bridesmaid," /paid Anna.; 
" Hfer mamma. >and Daine are sister$e My aunt Avas. 
much; richer before last year, but then she and 
mamma lost, all their fortune. Papa is a clergy- 
man, you know, so it makes; v^ry liftle difference 
to us, except tliat we k^ep no carriage, , and have: 
no dinner-paxties — ^and I like it better. But it was 
very sad for poor Aunt; Davilow, for she could nqt 
live with us, because . she . has four daughters b^ 
^es Gwendolen; but then, when she.. married ]^r 
Grandcourt, it did not signify so muph^ because. pt 
his being so rich." , 

" Oh, this finding out ^relationships is delightful I '' 



386 DANIEL DBKONDA. 

said Mab. "It is like a Ohiliese puzzle that one 
has to fit together. I feel diire somethiiig wonder- 
ful may be made of it, but I teiil't tell whAt." 

" Deal" ' me, Mab ! " said Amy, ^* Telatiohships 
ittiix^t branch out. The only difference is, that wo 
happen to know some of the people concerned. 
Siich things are going on every d^y.'' • '"•' 

"Atid pray. Amy, Why do yon insist on thft 
numbfer nine being so wonderfiil?"'s^d<'Mab*' *^ I 
am sure that Is happening every day. ' ^e[.vei» liind, 
Miss Grascoi^n^ ; please go bn. And Mr Dekmda ? 
— ha^^e you never seen Mr Deronda? • You musi 
bririg hini in/' v 

"No, I have not seen him," sfeiid'Aftnitt|' "ba* he 
sVas at Diplow before my co'usin was mfamed, and 
I have h^ard my annt speaking of hifti to jiapa* 
She said what you have been saying abont hiitl — 
only' not so tnuch : I mean, abowt Mt DejondA living 
with Sir Hugo Mallingef, and being so nide/ she 
thought. We talk a great deal dboutJ every one who 
domes near Pennioote, because it is 60 seldom there 
iis any one- new. But I. remember, when I asked 
Gwendolen what she thought' of M^- Deronda, she 
said, * Don't me'ntidn it, Anna 5 but I think his hair 
is dark.' That was her diroll way of 'anslvmng ; she 
was always so lively. It i^ really rather Wonderfdl 
that I should come to hes^'somuch about ; him, «aU 
through Mr Hans knowing Rex, and then my havi 
ing the pleasure of knowihg you,** Ann^ ended, 
looking at Ml^s Meyrick with a shy grace. 

" The pleasure is on our side too ; but the Wonder 
would have been, if you ' had come to this house 



BOOK Vn. ^TlflS MOTHEE AND THE SON. 387 

withoiut bi6aritig of Mr Derot^da — wouldn't it, Mirfth ? " 
flaid- Mrs: Meyriek. 

MinJ^i smiled aoquiesceijitiy, but .ha<J' nothing tD 
'6ay; A cQofueed discontent took poBSJ^aion of her 
.at . th^ miagling' of names .and: .imagpes to which ; she 
had beieb listening, y, .. 

. "My ..eon calls. Mrs Gmndddurt the .Vandyha 
duchess," continued Mrs Meyrick, turning again 
to .Aniiia; ^^hie thinks her so striking and pictur- 
.^sqiie."'.' ••'•") 

f "Yea," said Atina. "Gwiandolen waft always so 
beautiful rr-people fell dreadfully iii love with her. 
I thought it a. pity, beoauae it made them linliappy;'' 

" And how do you like Mr Grandcourt, the happy 
lover?" said Mrs Meyricky whoy in her Way, was as 
muck interested ad Mab in the. hints she had be^n 
hearing <rf vicissitude in the life df a widow With 
daughters. : \ 

** Papa aipiproved of GweUidolen's acceptiiig. Jiim, 
and my aunt says he is very generous," 0aJ4 Aniiia, 
begimking With a virtuous intention: of repreissing 
hef own^sientiments; but then, . unable, to resist a 
rare ooeasAon for speaking them freely, she; went 
on— ^f* else I should have thotight he was not very 
nice— ratlier proud, and not: at all lively, like Gwen- 
dolen. I should have thought some o»ei;yo<mger 
and more lively would have suited her better.' BUt, 
perhaps^ having a brother who seems '• to us better 
than any one makes us think worse of others." 

"Wait till you see Mr Deronda," said Mab,. nod- 
ding significantly.' :" Nobody's brother will do after 
iiiib." .:..•>. 



388 ' DANIEL BERONDA. 

^*Our IxrotherB miist do for people's htisbandB," 
said Kate, curtly, "because they will' not- get Mr 
Deronda. No woman will do for him to marry." 

"No woman- ought to v<rant him to^marry him," 
said Mab, with indignation. " I never should. 
Fancy finding out that he had a tailor's bill, and 
used boot-hooks, like Hans. Who ever^thoviglit of 
his marrying?" ' - •'•^^ 

" I have," said Kate. " When I drew a wedding 
for a frontispiece to ' Hearts and Diamonds,* I made 
a sort iof likeness of him for the bridegroom, and I 
went about looking for a grand woman who 'would 
do for his countess, but I saw none. that would not 
be poor creatures by the side of him." 

"You should have seen this Mrs G-randcourt 
then,'^ said Mrs Meyrick. - "Hans says-tha't she 
and Mr Deronda sfet eaich. other off when they are 
side by side. She is tall and fair. But you know 
her, Mirah — you can always say something descrip- 
tive. What do you think of Mrs Grattdcourt ? " 

"I think she ib like l^ie Princess of EboU in Don 
Carlos" said Mirah, with a quick intensity. She 
was pursuing an association in hef: own mind not 
intelligible to her heairers— an association with a 
certain actress as well as the part she represented. 

"Your comparison is a riddle for ma, ihy .dear," 
stiid Mrs Meyrick, smiling. .... 

" You said that Mrs Grandoourt wasi tall and feir," 
continued Mirah, slightly paler* " That is quitie 
trul3." ' • 

Mrs Meyriok's quick' eye and ear detected some- 
thing unusual, but immediately explained it to :her- 



BOOK VII. THE MOtHER A«D THE SON. 389 

self. Fine ladies had often wounded Mirah by 
caprices df manner and intention. 

" Mrs Grandconrt had thought of having lessons 
from Mirah," she said, turning to Anna. "But 
many have talked of having lessons, and then have 
found nb time. FashiOnaMe' ladies 'have too much 
work to do." 

And the chat went on wll^iout further iiisistance 
on the Princess 6f Eholi, That comparison escaped 
Mirah's lips under the utgency bf a pang unlike 
anything she had felt tefore. The <ibnv6rsation 
from the beginning had revived unpleasant impres- 
sions, and Mrs Meyri'ck's suggestion of Gwendolen's 
figure by the side of Deronda's K&,d the stinging 
effect^ of a voice butside her^'cdrifirming her secret 
conviction that this tall aiid' fair Wbmari had f5ome 
hold on his lot. For a long while ajTterwards she 
felt as if she had had a jarring shock through her 
frame. 

In the evening, putting her cheek against her 
brother's shoulder as she was sitting by him, while 
he sat propped up in b6d under a new difficulty of 
breathing, slie'said — ' 

"Ezra, doei^'it ever hurt your love'fbi' Mr Deronda 
that so much of his life wa^ af 1 hidden away frdni 
you, — ^^that he is amongst persons and cares about 
persons who are all so unlike us — I mean, unlike 
you?'^ 

"No, assuredly no," said Mordecai. "Rather, it 
is at precious thought to me that he has a preparation 
which I lacked, and is an accomplished Egyptian." 
Then, recollecting that his Words had a reference 



390 .DANIEl^ PEBONPjV. 

whioli hifl Bis(jei;,mvi8t.,uolt yet ,Tin(ieiiji^nd^ Jie ad^dect, 
"I have the more, to.gi-ve him, ^iiiOfi;his treasure 
dilTer«,from/i^^na jT^t. is > Jblesee^^^ees in friend- 

sliip"" :. ,•- M : .' •.!'. ■ 

Mimh mm^ed a littlf). ' .. : 

" Sti)}," she said, "it woujd.he a tria^ tp your love 
for him if that other part of his life wiQre like a 
crow.d iu which he had got. eiatajagled, bo that he 
was cai'ried away from you — I me^fi ja his thoughts, 
aiid not. luert^ly carried out of sight as he is now- — 
(Mid uot i^erolj for a little while, but continuallj. 
How 8]\(>uld you bear that? Our religion cx)mmandB 
u« tt> Ikuu\ But how should you bear it ? '* 

** Not well, my sister — not well \ but it will never 
hapjHMi/* ;f«\id Monlecai, looking at her with a tender 
§mile* Ht* thought that her heart needed comfort 
ott his aci\nvut* 

Mir^x isiiaid no more. She mused over the difibf- 
euot* K^twwn her own state of mind and her brother^a^ 
wul frit her otuuparative pettiness. Why could slie 
tH^t Iv cvnupletoly satisfied with waat satisfied his 
lax$i\>r juvis^^meut ? Siie gave herself no fullt^r reaaon 
tivAU a painfiil sense of unfitness — in what r Airy 
jKV?^ibxaties to wliioa slie vX uld ^ive no outline, bat 
tv* w:iicii vnie name azid ciie fiirure gave tLe wander- 
i:i.5* jvr^i;>teuoy of a llo: iil Ler vis^ica. Here I*y 
tli^ Y;*^,:cr Svnirw v^t iLr Lillea sadness rtndertd 
t^>::vVc^V*e tv^ llatui^ by s».^:i:e vli:^.^u:::n of thAiswttrr 
^Ase^ tI:A5 ret*.:y jov-u^stiiis;^ ::" rrST^«:n^e il. I.er s:p*?^v!ii 
ifcrtd $:u:U\ >>>■:::.:: Ix^ cocie «~:rjL the iL«fv siic;?*^ of 
iVxvv :.v, Aul 'iui^*;. jtn-.l r,vul rLL.*.t!r I^er yr^^tjeo.^* like 



BOOK VII. THE MCHaER AND THE SON. 391 

the rain. She herself regarded her uneasiness as a 
sort of ingratitude and dulness of sensibility towards 
the great things that had been given her in her new 
life ; and whenever she threw more energy than 
usual into her singing, it was the energy of indigna- 
tion against the shallowness of her own content. 
In tliat mood she once said, " Shall I tell you what 
is the difference between you and me, Ezra? You 
are a spring in the cfrou'gh^, and I aAi an acorn-cup ; 
the waters of heaven fill me, but the least little 
shake leaves me' fempty." ' 

"Why, what has shaken thee?" said Mordecai. 
He fell into this antique form of speech habitually 
in talking to his sister and tr) th<i Gohfen dhildrenj' 
• ** Thoughts," said M^iuh ; >^ thoughts that come 
liie the breeze and shake ni^^— b^d people; ^iroTtg 
things, misery— and how theytiiiglit t6uch our life.** 

*^ We must take our portioti, Mirahi'' It is therie; 
On whose shoulder «woiald we k^^'-itj that we might 
beiree?'^": • • '>'-'^ •'■-'■ • '• 

The one' voluntary 'sign thftt she -madfe -of her 
inwatd care wab tliis di&tant allusiofa. 



392 



, CHAPTEE JAIL 

"My desolation does ]?9gjii to ini^ce 
A better life." 

^Sh4KE)IPBare : ATiiony and OkopcO/td, 

Before; Deronda was summoned to a secorwi inter- 
yiew. with his mother, : a day had passed in which 
she had only sent him a ml^sage to say that she 
was npt yet well enough' to receive him again; but 
on the third momiug he; had a; note saying, '^ I leave 
to-day. Come said see me at oaace.!' 

He was shown into the same room as before ; but 
it was ijauch darkened with blinds and curtains. 
The Princess jwpis not (^bere, bulb she, preseutliy en* 
tered, dressed in a loose wrap of some soft silk, in 
colour a dusky orange, her head again with black 
lace floating about it, her arms showing themselves 
bare from under her wide sleeves. Her face seemed 
even more impressive in the sombre light, the eyes 
larger, the lines more vigorous. You might liave 
imagined her a sorceress who would stretch forth 
her wonderful hand and arm to mix youth-potions 
for others, but scorned to mix them for herself, hav- 
ing had enough of youth. 



BOOK VIL THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 393 

She put her arnpis on her son's shoulders at once, 
and kissed him on both cheeks, then seated herself 
among her oushipns with an air of assured firi^^pss 
i^nd. dignity unlike ter fitfulness in jtheir .first int^eif- 
view, and told Derpnda to sit down, by her. He 
obeyed, jpiaying, " Ypn are quite relieved now, I 

trust?" . . 

"Yes, I am at ease |*gain. Is tj^ere anything 
mor^ tl^at y-ou .would like to ask me?," she said, with 
the manner of a queen rather than of a mother, 

" Can I find tl^e hpuse in GTenoa where you used 
to live with my grandfether ? " said Deromda. 

" No,** she pnfiwpred, with a deprecating move- 
ment of. her arm, "it is pulled down-;— not to, be 
found. But about; our femily, and where my father 
lived at vc^yious tinjes — you will find all that among 
the, papers in the, chest, better thaiji. I can tell you. 
My fother, .1 told ypu, was a physician. My mother 
was a Morteira* I used to hear .all those things 
without listening. You will find ih^vOi all. I was 
bom amongst them without my will. I banisl^ed 
them as soon as I could." 

Deronda tried tq hide hifi pained feeling,, and 
8^jd, " A<nything else , that I should deeir^ to know 
from you could only, be what it is sop^e satisfaction 
to your own, feeling to tell me,". 

"I think I have told you, everything that could 
be demanded of i^ql^," said the Princess, looking 
coldly meditative. It seemed as if she bad ex- 
hausted her emotion in their fonujer. interview. The 
fact was, she h^d said to horself, "I haye done , it 
all. I have eonfessed, all. I will .not go through it 



394" t)ANIEL DERONDA. -'^ 

agaiii/ I wil! ^ave myself *fron!i: agit^ition," And 
(jhe was acting out that themJe'. ''''■'' ' ' ■ 

Biit to Derohda^s nattire the mbrnent wa* cruel ;■ 
it inalde the 'filial yearning of his liife a'difekppcjintfed 
pilgrimage to a' shrine where thei*^ wete ho longer' 
the symbols of sabredneSs. It 'seem^d^ that all 'the 
woman lacking in her was present in him as he said/ 
wfth sdirie trienior in his voice — • ■ ' . / ' 

"Then ar^ we to part, and Inev6r'be Anything 

to yOU?'^' :;•'••• '; • .■ M . ;, . i 

"It'i^ better so," skid the Princess, in a' softer, 
mellower Voice. /* There cotild be- nothing brat hitrd 
dhty for yon,' even if it Were posdiblef'foi* you to take 
the place of iny soil. ' You would not- love me. 
Don't deny it," she said, abruptly, putting up her 
hatid. "I knoAV what is the tttlth. Ybtrdon'iiiike 
what i did. Yoti' are angry with me: You thihk I 
robbed yoii of something. You are on ^our grand- 
fether^s sid^,' and yoti vdll always haVe a ciohdemna- 
tioh of me in' yotir heart." ' ' 

Ddronda felt himself under a ban of silence. He 
rose from his seat by her, preferring t6 sttind, if he 
had to obey that imperious prohibition of any tender- 
ness. But hig mother how looked Up at him with a 
new admiratioh' in her glance, saying — ■ ' 

" You are wrong to be angrV with miB. You are 
the better for what 1 did." After pausing a little, 
she added, abruptlV',^ "And noW tell me what you 
shall do." 

" Do you mean hoW, immediately,*' said Deronda J 
*^ or as to the course of my futiire life ? ** 

"I mean in the future. What difference Will it 



BOOK VII. THE JWQTHRB A^P THE SON. »95 

n^e tQ ypv^ .,that I have tjoWi yon about your 
birth?" ^ , : 

"A ve^rygyeat diffearence " said Deronda, emphati- 
jQ^rlly, ^^ I .«aa^ hardly tljiuk of anything that woiild 
makea grdatw diifcr^noe."!' , 

"What; shall you do, th^^a?" said the Princess^ 
with jnore shcirpaesst - . " Make yourself just like 
your graudfather— b6 what he wished you — turn 
yourself into a Jew like hitu V • . 

, " That is impossible. The efifect of my education 
can never be done a\*^ay with. . The Christian sym- 
pathies in which, my mind was reared oan, never die 
out of me," sai4 Deronda, with i^^erebsing tenacity 
of tone;. ," Bijit J consider it my duty — it; is the 
impulijie pf my fueling— to identify myself, q.s feu- aip 
possible, with my hereditary people, and if I oan se'e 
ituy. .work to. t)e done for tbecn :thfait I Can give my 
soul an4 hazid to I sh^U .dhposiB to do i:t." 

His mother Jha4: her eyjBs. fixed, on hinu witti a 
WQ^eirii;!^ sp^oulation, examining )^b face as if she 
thought,. tb^t by :cl<>se attentiptt ,she could read a 
difficult: language thejre. He bore her gaze very 
finpt^y^., sustained by a resolute opposition^ which 
was. tiie expression of his fullest s<»lf.; She! bent 
towards l^im ^ .little, and- said> with a decisive 
emphasis-r- 

"You are in ;love .with a Jewess.!- 

Deronda colouifed and fiaid, " My. ir0asonfe would 
be independent of any. such fact." ,.,. ', ir 

" I. kp,ow better, . I have; seen what men are," 
said the Princess, peremptorily; " Tell ,m'e the 
trxi1)l^. She is a Jewess Who will ,not accept any 



396 DAI^IBL DEROK0A. 

one but a Jew. There are a few "sticli," she added, 
with a touch of scorn. 

Deronda had that objection to answer Vsrhich we 
fell! have Itnowii in speaking to those wiio are too 
certain of their own fixed interprfetaAibns to be 
enlightened by anything we may say. But besides 
this, the point immediately in questioii was one on 
which he felt a repugnclnce either to deny or affirm. 
He remained silent, and she presently said< — 

" You love hei* as your father lovied me, and she 
draws you after her as I drew him;'^ 

Those words touched Deronda's filial imagination, 
and some tenderness in his glanc^ was taken by his 
mother as an assent. • She went oil "with 'Rising 
passion. "But I was leading him the otht^r''way. 
And now your grandfather is getting his revenge. ^'^ 

" Mother," said Deronda, rethonstrantly, ^* don't 
let us think of it in that way. I will adWiit that 
the-re ' may come some benefit from the education 
you chose for me. I prefer dheWshitig the benefit 
with gratitude, to dwelling with resentmefat on the 
injury. I think it would have been right that I 
shoxild have been brought up with the Gonsciousne^n 
that I was a Jew, but it must alwayd have been a 
good to me to have as wide an instrtiction find 
sympathy as possible. And now, you have restored 
me my inheritance — events have brought a fuller 
restitution tlian you could have made — you have 
been saved from robbing my peoxvle of my soh-icd 
and me of my duty : can you not bring 3'oi^i* whole 
Boul to consent to this V " 

Deronda pausied in his pleading : his mother 



BOOK VII. ME MOTHER AND THE SON. 397 

looked at liim listeningly^ as if the cadence of hie 
voice were takihg; h-er ear, yet she shook her head 
eloiifly. He b^gan again' even more urgentlj^. 

" Yon 'have told me' that you sought what you 
held the best for me : open your heart to releiiting 
and love tdwardfi tny grandfather, who sought what 
he held ike best for you.^' 

** Not for me, no," she said, shaking her head with 
more absolute denial, and folding her arms ' tightlyl 
" I tell you, he never thotlght .of his daughter except 
as an instrument. Because I had wants outride his 
purpose, I was to be put in a frame and tortured. 
If that ife the right laW fbr the world, I will not say 
that I love it. If my acts were wrong — if it is God 
who is exacting ' from me that I should deliver up 
what i'Withliild — Whb is punishing me because I 
deceived my father fend did not warn him that I 
iffhonid contradioU his trust — well, I have told every- 
thing. I have dewe what I could. And t/our ^oxxl 
consents. ' That is etwugb. I have after all » been 
the instrument ' irfy father^ wanted. — ' I desire a 
grandson = who shill have a true Jewish heart. 
Every JeW sh6uid tear hk family as if he hoped 
that & Deliverer might spring from it.'" 

In tittering these last sentences the Prineesis 
narrowed het eyes, waved her head up and down, 
and spoke sloWly wi4;h a new kind of chest-voice, 
as if she were quoting unwillingly. ' 

'^Wete thofee my grandfather's words '?^' sAid 
Deronda. : . ; 

"Yes, yes; and you will find them written^ I 
waiited t6' 'thwai^ him," said the Princess, With a 



393 .DANIEI,. PBBONDA. i , 

^ud(len outburst of the passijc?n phe h6.d i^Jiowji. ici 
tjieiformei:! interview. Th^A sh^' adeje^ jnora elowfly/, 
" YoH ¥foul4 have me. lov^;wl>p.ti. J b4ve liiated ^oto 
the tiiiie . I was so high "rrr-herte sh^ h^H jher left 
ha,iid a yard from the. floor^— -" .T}i*^<; QP^< ttievet be. 
gut/ what does it.ms^ttet? Hisj.yoke. )>^,§ been- f^u 
me, whether I loved it or not- , y^^rar^'ithe; grandr 
spn, be. wanted. You sp;eftk;4sin^n.,(ipT-P'S if you 
felt :yo^i?sel.f.wi.s0. , Whati4<i>.e^ iti^^lL^iean?"-,. . 

Her tope was abrupt a^dfipopi^f^h ; Deroi^da, in 
his j)aiiied feeling, and uu<Jei;; (the i^oleipn.. urgency 
qi the. pjQjnient, had. to i^ep a <slut?;hing . remem^ 
bpance of thpir , relatiotifshi J>, vfe^tr ihis wiQrdjs rsboul^ 
become , cr^iel. He begf»rn . ii^ .a /<i<?e^ entefeatiTtg tona 
, '^;MQther, don't sp,y,tb?tt. 5, feel fl^yself>vij?e.i ..We 
are set in tbi^ n^idst of diflfioi^lties. i I. sfeio ,n<^ othe?" 
wa,y to get my cleamesd. than by; being,, trt;ithfi4-tr 
uot by keeping back facts whi^jb ;¥tiay;H^:vvWcb $ho:U(i4 
carry obligation within ' theitVr-WibJch shio^d.mdke 
thepnly guidance towards duijy, nNQWOndejcjif such 
facta icpme; to reveal theipselyjes ip spit^.-.^^'ocniceal- 
inent$. The effects prepgorfed] hif., g«?l^ifatifwxs are 
likely tet^tiumiph oyer 9i.«contri^vJa^iQe:vwli^icb would 
bend them all tQ the ^ati^fool^ioai jpf . s^f, i . .^oij^r will 
was ^trpng, but: my granjdfether's : ttrust .\yhiph you 
9,c^ptefd(^nd.difl. not fulfilF^wbat ypu o^U hift yoljce 
--'is. /the- exJpreission of sometbing. ^trpng^i:, nrtl^ 
deeper, farther-spreading. , rootsi kn.it in^p tbp foun- 
datioii's of sacredness for ^U men. YjOfij r^pp^nced 
me — you still banish me — as a son" — tlverj^. was 
an iuvQluntary movement of . infligjnatipu in . Der- 
onda;S; y<»oe — "But. that st^-pi^ger . Someihingt has 



BOOK VII. THB MOTHER AND THE SON. 399 

dt3temiined that I ^hallbe all the more the grand- 
Son whom also ybu willed to annihilate.'* ' 

Hi^ mother wiis watctung him fixedly,' and again 
. her 'fade gathered adtnira;tion. After • a motiierit^i^ 
silence she said, iii a low peifstiasive tone-^ • ' 

" Sit dowii again," arid He obeyed, placing hini-i 
self fcefeMe'her. ' She laid her hand on hiri shoUldet 
and went 6n. ' '" ' '• •' ' ' • 

•^* Yon rebuke- me. We11-^I am the loser: And 
you are angry because I banish you. Whdt could 
yoti do fbrme but weary your' own patience? Your 
mother ii 'a "^haltered wbman. My sen^e "of life in 
little more than d seriise of what was — except when' 
thfe pain'' ib pre^^nt. Ydu ref)roach 'ine that I 
parted Hvith you. ' I had joy enough without you! 
then. 'ifoW J^oti are co'itib back to me, alnd I' Cannot 
make you a' jby. Havie you the cursing spirit of 
the JeW'in'^o\i? Are you not able t6 forgir^ me? 
Shall you be glad to think that t am 'punished be-' 
cause 1 'Was not a JeWish mother to you?*' ■ ' 

"How can yoti "ask me that ?^' said Defdhda, re*- 
monstrantly. "'Have I not besought 'Jou that' I 
might now* 'a^ least 'be a' sbn to you? My grief is 
that you have declared me helpless to comfort you. 
I Would ghe li^ mucli that is dear for the S^kief of 
sootliing your anguish." ' ' ' ' 

" You sliall give up nothing," said * his mother, 
with the hurry of agitation. " You shall b'e h^ppy. 
You shairiet me thibk of ydu as happV. I shall 
have dbh^' you no harm. You have no reason to 
curse me. You shall feel for me as they feel for 
thfe dead whdiA thby say prayers for-^you shall 



40fi DANlEf. DEBONPAt . . < 

loiig.tha^ I may be freed from all sniffering-^from all 
punishment And I shall see yon, instead of, always 
speing your grandfather. Will any Imrm .ppme to 
xne because I broke his trust in the dt^ylight p-fter 
he was gone into darkness ? 1 cannpt tell :^f you 
thi?ik J^acfdish will help m^ — >say, it, say i,t. You 
wil], pome between me anjj the-deai /When I'^xa 
in your mind, you will look as you do now-rTralways 
ds if you were a tender ^QHy — always-^^aS; if I had 
been a tender mother/* 

She seen;Led resolved that her .svgijt^^ioi^.sl^puld not 
cpnqu;er jber, but he felt h^r haj^fi trembling on hia 
i^houlder. Deep, deep compassion he^u^med, in all 
^^ordq.; With a face of, beseeching ^e ^put his arija 
round her and pressed her bea4 tend,e;:ly uiid^r {lis* 
They sat 90 for some moments. , Then '^he lifted her 
head again and rose from her. seat with a^. great sigh,. 
as if in ths^t brea-^h she were dismissing^a ^eigjit of 
thoughts, , Deronda, standing in front ,*(pf her, felt 
that the parting was near. But one. of her swift 
alteruatipns had come upon his .mqther* . 

" I« she beautiful ? " she said, abruptly. 

'* Who ? 7 said Deronda, changing ^olour. 

" The woman you love." , 

.It;, was i^ot a moment for deliberat^e e;^pl8^natiqn. 
He was obliged to say, " Yes." , 

"Not ambitious?" i 

"No, I, think not." ' : ' , . 

" Not one who must have a path of her own ? " 
. "I think her nature is not given to n^ake great 
claims." 

*f She is not like that?" said.tlfie l^iincese, taking 



BOOK VII. 'tnt MOTHER AND THE SON. 401 

from her- wallet a miniature with je'v^ls round it, 
and holding it before her son. It was her own in 
all the fire of yonth, arid as Deronda looked at it 
with admiring sadness, she said, "Had I not a 
rightful claim 'to be something more than a mere 
daughter and mother? The voice and the genius 
matched the face. Whatever else was •wtotig, iac^ 
knowledge that I had a right to be an attist^ tliough 
my father's will was against it. My nature gave 
me a charter.** 

" I do acknowledge ^at," said Deronda, looking 
from -the miniatitre to h^r face, which even in its 
worn pallor had an expression of living force beyond 
anything that ttie pencil conld show. 

" Will you take the portrait ? ■' said the Piihrc^ss, 
tnore getitly. " If she is a kind woman teach her to 
think of me kindly." 

" I shall be grateful for the portrait,** said Der- 
otida, "btit — I ought to say, I have no assurance 
that she whom I love will have any love for me. 1 
have kept siWnce." • 

"Who and what is she?" said the mother. Tlie 
question ^etned a command. 

"She "W^ad brought up as a singe* for the stage," 
Said Deronda, with inward reluctance. " Her father 
took her away early from her mother, and her life 
has been unhappy. She is very young — only twenty. 
Her fathei^ wished to bring her up in disregard — even 
in dislike of her Jewisli origin, but she has dung 
with all her affection to the memory of her mother 
and the fellowship of her people." 

" Ah ! like you. She. is attached to the Judaism 



402 , DANIEIj , PERONDA: .!: 

she, knows nothing of," said the ,Pri4(3^p8,.p^remp* 
torily* , " That is poetry -— fit to . la#;t through: an 
oiDera I night. Is she foni of her. artist's life — :is 
Jier, .^ngiiig worth, anything?", 

" Her singing is e^xquisite* But -h^r voice ie, not 
suited, to thp sta^e. I think that tlije ftrti»t'j8 life 
h^p been made repugnant tO/ her." . 

" Why, she isnmde for you, then; ,Sir Htigb sa-id 
you we^e bitt^rfy against being a singer, and I ecm 
see that you would never have let yours^ be m^ged 
in ^ wife,, fi,^ypur father wap^." •■ ;] . ,,', ' 

. "I repeat," said, Derond^, fBmph«^ticfl4Hyr^" Iirepeat 
that I have no a^urance of her.loyo for me, of the 
possibility that we can ever be united, ; Otlier things 
-^painful issues may lie before me>. ; I.hav^ipl^'ays 
felt that I should , prepare myaelfito renovince, nqt 
cherish that prospect. But I suppose I might feel 
so .of happiness in general. .Whether.itm.$.y come 
or not,, one should try and prepare, oi^e^s self to do 
without it" ..... 

"Do you feel in that way?" saidljiis mother, 
lp,ying her han^^ on . his shoulders,. £tnd. penising 
his face, while she spoke in a low tneditative tone, 
pausing between. her sentences. "Pooy taoyl--.-. . 
I wonder how it would have been i if I hftd;k^pt you 
with me , , . whether you would have; tumecj your 
heart to the old things . . ♦ againstj-min^^ ..».•.. and 
w^ should havie quarrelled . • .: iyqlii: grandfatJier 
would have .been in you . . . >and you. would, have 
hampered my life with your. young growth from 
the old root." .... 

. "I think fmy afifection might have lasted through 



BOOK VII. THB .MOTHER: AND THE SON. 4^03 

all our q^JBirelling^'' sepd • Deronda, iaddened more 
and more, '" and: that ^ould not hfave hampered-^—' 
gurely iHb would have" fenriehed your life/' '• ' 

"Not tbftn^ not ^ifliAi w .. . I did not want iV 
tben . k . I might h^e>been glad iof 'it now/' sciid 
th*' m'crthei*, with' ^> bitter 'melancholy, *^ if I could 
have been glad o^'anylibing." '• 

'^ Btrt yotii lore 'yoAr* other children, i^od tbey love* 
you ?" said Deronda, anxiously. 

' " Oh' y^eiB,"' she' answered, as to a question ' about 
a matter of course, while Bh& fblded her arms again; 
*<'.Btrt,<''v . i- she adkiid-i«: a deeper ttue^ . . . ^* I 
am not a loving woman. That is the truth; 'It- iis 
a talent toioVe— IlackeA it. Others have loved me 
-^and. I'have acit^^ed theti* love. I kilbw very well 
what l^fe mak'(fi* of toeh* attd women-^it ds suljec*' 
tion. ' It tiakfeg ; Anothar for* a larger self,- enclosing' 
this One,"'^bhe pWn«e<J to her own bosom; ^^I 
was never wlllingly> stfbject to any man* Men 
have been subject to me." 

" Perhaps the man who was subject was the 
happier of the two," said Deronda — not with a 
smile, but with a grave, sad sense of his mother's 
privation. 

"Perhaps — but I lyas happy — for a few years I 
was happy. If I had not been afraid of defeat and 
failure, I might have gone on. I miscalculated. 
What then ? It is all over. Another life I Men 
talk of * another life,' as if it only began on the 
other side of the grave. I have long entered on 
anotlier life." With the last words she raised her 
arms till they were bare to the elbow, her brow 



404 DANIEL DBJiBONDA. 

was contracted in one deep fold^ lierneyes wets 
closed, her ' voice! was smothered :'. in her diiaky 
flame-coloured garment, she looked like. a djreatned 
visitant from some region of depai^ed mort^Ja. • 

Derbnda's feeling was wrought to'a pit(ih of acute- 
liess in .which he was no. longer quite master of i him.-, 
self. He gave an audible; sdb; Hfe Ebothey^ opening- 
her eyes', and letting her. hands again rest on his 
shoulders, said — ::....» i • 

" Good-bye, my son, gobdiby^.. We shall -^^h^ar no 
moire of each other. Kiss me/' > 

; He damped, his artos: romidiher neck, and. th^y 
kissed each lotber. ■ . . ! ., 

Deronda did not kno.w ijQW.;h^ got .out of the 
room. He felt ^n older inm^ , • All Jus boyish yeajm- 
ings;aud anxieties about hiS'.mothi&r>had vanished. 
He hdd gone through a .tragic e«perifei|ce which 
must for ever solemnise his MfQ and- deepen the 
sigtifificanoe of the acts by/which h$ bound himself 
to others. . . : . i - 



405 



CHAPTEK lAY: 



' ' ' ' •' T^ieunkilliiigbttiin' ' ' 

Fe^B often what it would not ; andw«tra^t 
Imagination with such phantasies 
A's the tongad dares not'fslshion tnto words; 
Which ha,Te no word^, their ho^rpr nuakes t^\em. di^ 
To the mind*s eye." 

■'. ■ ■' ■* i ' — rBHEU.Bir. ■ 



Madonna Pia, whose husband^ feeling hiiiiselfiiljijired 
by her^took hec to lus castle' amid the swampy fiatis 
of the Matemooa and got! rid of her there, make& a 
paliietio figure in Dante's v JPurgatory, among the 
sinners ^ho repented at the -last and desire to be 
remiembered compas^onately by their fellow-country-i 
men;'- We know little aboat the grounds of mutual- 
discontient between the Siennese couple j but we may 
infer- witih some confid^iioe that.: the husband had 
never been' a- ivery delightful companion, and that on 
the 'flat^ of the Maremma his disagreeable maimers 
had a background which threw them out remark- 
ably; whence in his desire to punish his wife" to the 
uttermost, the • nature of things was so far against 
Mm that in relieving himself of her he could not 
aT^oid making the relief mutiiaL And thus, without^ 



406 DANIEL liERONDA. 

any hardness to the poor Tuscan lady who had her 
dehverance long ago, one may feel warranted in 
thinking of her with a less sympathetic interest 
than of the better known Gwendolen who, instead 
of being delivered from her errors on earth and 
cleansed from their effect in purgatory, is at the 
very height of her entanglement in those fatal 
meshes which are woven within more closely than 
without, and often. ipak<B the inward torture dispro- 
portionate to what is discernible as outward cause. 

In taking his. wife with him on a yachting expedi- 
tion, Grandcourt had ii6 intention to get rid of her; 
on the contrary, he wanted to feel more securely 
that she was his to do as he liked with, and to make 
her feel it also. Moreover, he was himself very 
fond of yachting : its dreamy do-nothing absolutism, 
tomolested by social detnands, suited his dispositioDy 
and he did not iin the least regard it as ian equiva^ 
lent for the dreariness rfithe MaremuQflu H4 had his 
reasons for carrying; Gwendolen oiit of reach j but 
they were not reasons that -can seem black in tho 
mere statement, ' 'He^. euspeoted a growing" spirit . of 
opposition in her, and: his feeling abouii the seiioitL*' 
mental inclination she> betrayed for- Deronda-i^s 
what^Q another ^maia he w«>ald'haye called jealousy^ 
In himself it seemed merely a resolution, to put an ^ 
end to such foolery as nmst: have been going on in 
that prearranged \TBit of Deconda's which he had 
divined and interrupted. . : ., • , 

And Grandcourt might have pleaded that. he iwas. 
perfebtly justified iii taking ear© that his jwifia shooild 
Mill the obligations, she had doeopted* ' Har m»x* 



BOOK VIT. — THE MOTHER ANJD THE SON. 407 

liage waB A.ocMtttract where all tiie ostenmble 'advan- 
tages were on her side, and it was only one of thofiie 
advantages that hex husbaad should use liiw poM'er 
tp • hinder: her from any injurious self-comniittal or 
utisuitable behaviour. He knew quite Well thdt she 
had aot married him: — had not overcome her repugr 
nance to cerjtain facts— rout of love to him persoa- 
ally; he bad won her by 'the rank and luxuries he 
had tioi giv/e her, and these she had got : he had ful- 
filled his fiidie of the contract. 

Ajad Gwendolen, we know, was thoroughly aware 
of! the situation. She could not excise herself by 
saying, that there had been a tacit pact of the con- 
tract, on her side — ^namely, that she meaat to rule 
and have her own way. With all .her early indul- 
gence isob the disposition .to . dominate, she \ya« not 
one of the narrow-brained women who through life 
regard all ; their Own selfish demands as rights, and 
every claim upon themselves as an injury. She had 
a )*oot of Qonscienc^ in. h errand the prooess of .pii^f;- 
gatory had begun for her on the green earth : she 
knew that she had been wrong. 

But now. enter into the soul of this young crea^ute 
aa she found herself, with, the blue Mediterranean 
dividing* her from the world, op. thfe tiny pljank- 
island of a yacht, the domain ,of the husband to 
whom she. felt, that she had sold herself^ and had 
bee^ paid the strict price — :nay, paid more than she 
had dared to aisk in the handsome maintompce qf 
her mothfer, :-7— the husband tovwhomfihe had sold her 
truthfaln^sB and sense of justice, so that; he held 
tlle^l. throttled into s.iJlence, collared and dragged 



408 DANIEL I>ERONDA. 

behind liim to witness what he would, without re- 
monstrance. 

What had she to complain of? The yacht was 
of the prettiest ; the cabin fitted up to perfection, 
smelling of cedar, soft- cushioned, hung with silk, 
expp-nded with mirrors ; the crew such as suited an 
eleganit toy, one of them having even ringlets, as 
well as a broUTje complexion and fine teeth ; and Mr 
Lush was not there, for he had taken his way back to 
England as soon as he had seen all and everything 
on board. Moi-eover, Grwendolen herself liked the 
seia : it did not make her ill ; and to observe the 
rigging of the vessel and forecast 'the necessary 
adjustments was a sort of amusement that might 
have gratified her activity and enjoymeni of imagin- 
ary rule ; the weather was fine, and they we're coast- 
ing southward, where even the rain-furrowed, heat- 
cracked clay becomes gem-like with purple shadows, 
and where one may float between blue and blue in 
an open-eyed dream that the world has done with 
sorrow. 

But what can still that hunger of the heart which 
sicikeus the eye for beauty, and makes sweet-scented 
^ase an oppression? What sort of Moslem paradise 
would quiet the terrible fuiry of moral itepkilsion and 
cowed resistance which, like an eating' pain ^inten- 
sifying into torture, concentrates the mind in that 
poisonous misery? While Gwendolen j throtted on 
her cushions at ev^ing, and beholding the glory of 
bea and sky softening as • if with boundless love 
around her, was hoping that Grandcmirt in his 
march up and down was-nfot going to' pause near 



BOOK VII. TH|:/|]VJOTHBBf ANX) THE SON. 40^ 

heTr/Bot. going to look fttih^F ^r speak tQ tw? &9ma 
wosoan mider-a.-smpky sky,, obliged to ooiisidQT,tl)o 
price of egg» in arr»»ngmg b^r dinner, wa^ei Jiiptening 
for tbd mu^iic. of .ft.foots:tep that. : would .j;eiftove »U 
riflk fro^n Ij^p.fpr^taptje of joy; soma couple, l^pn^ii^g, 
eheek. by ohtjejit, over ^ hit of work |don© hy.the one 
and;d^Kgbted. jp; by.tbe oth^n ^^r© reokpning ^Me 
eamingd that would mak^ ^tM^m.-jich enough fori^ 
holiday among- the: furze ^ijifi hither., .; i . 

Had Gri;audcoTirt. tl?;(ei}e^fit pqnc^ption of ^yliat wa^ 
going on} jn tbp.rbrea8A..9J?tbiS; wife?; rJ^,.po;^p€}iy(^fJ 
that sbedidtpcrt' Ipye :him :rrbut \jras that ^lecessary ,? 
She wap u^4^ -hie* pflw|er,:a^ ho was,, n^ accus* 
tOmed to BClo^e hiiwRelf, a^ some pheerfally-dispofted 
piersonB .are., with th€i,c^n.YiGtjqn; that. hQ. ^^as yery 
goner^lty ,and jftsUy : Jj^lorvet^ j But what lay. quite 
away i^o^.lii^; pKppoeptiw we^^, that, she pfiuld ha>^e 
any special repulsion for him personally,. JIow 
could;. sfa^?.. ;^e. hiniself kpew what personal re- 
pulsion was — nobody bettef:;. his in?n4.w,as njiucb 
fi^rnishecj .>yi;tli a sense, of what h^t^s ;l^|s, fellpw- 
icreftti^res, wiejr^Khqth uuvsculjne.rji;^ fei^inine ; .wbf^t 
odious fai^iliiiritie^ they had,. .wh,a.t .jsmirjks,. what 
^modes of .flouyishing theij| Imndkercliiefs,. wha|t^. cps- 
tiime, iwhat lavpude^r wat^r,,,what bulgiijig ^yes,.and 
what foolish, notions of m£|.kipg thejnsel;y^^^,^gfeeaV^e 
by;reiparks wJ^iich„were not w.ant^fl* ; JPi tjiis critical 
yiew, Ojf mapkipd theire was .^n.p-Jjfipity betye.en hip 
ai>d Qiv^endo^m;][)efQre thejr .mapri^go, and;W^ kJ^mv 
that phe had bB^jj.attracti^gly wrpn.i^lit i^pon byi thp 
refin^^d meg^ti,9n,f h^ pyesented tp. her,. . ^epcfs^ }\^ 
understood herrr,eipuJsion,:far. Ifi8h.,.| ^iit ,l|ipw...T»?fts 

VOL. IT. 



410 DANIEL DERONDA. 

he to understand or conoiivfe her. present repulsion 
for Henleigh Grandcourt ? Some men bring them^ 
selves' to believe, and not merely maintain, the non- 
existence of an external world; a few others belie v^ 
themselves objects of repmlidon to a womsin without 
being told so in plain l^feguiage. But Grandcoutt 
did not belong to this eccentric bbdy of thinkers^ 
He had all liis life hid reason to take a flattering 
view of his own stttk^ctivenefts, and to place himself 
in fine antithesis to the men who, he saw at once, 
must be revolting to a woman of taste. He had no 
idea of a "moral repulsion, and ' could* not have ' be- 
iievefd, if he had Ibe^ told it, that there may be a 
resentment and disgust which wiili gradually make 
beauty more detestable than Tlgliness, through exasj- 
peration at' that outWard virtue in which hateflil 
things can flaunt themselves or ftfld^a supercilious 
advantage. " ' 

How, then,' could Grandcourt ditine what was 
going on in Gwendolen's breast? 

For their behaviour to each other scandalised no 
observer — not even the foreign maid warranted 
against sea-sickness; nor Grandcourt's own experi- 
enced valet ; still less ' the ' picturesque crew, who 
regarded them as a model couple in high life. 
Their companionship consisted chiefly in a well-bred 
'silence. Grandcourt had no humorous observations 
at which Gwendolen coiild refuse to sJiiile, no chit- 
chat to make small occiasions of dispute. He was 
perfectly polite in arranging an additional garment 
over he'r when needfulj and in banding her any 
object that he perceived her to need," and she could 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHE'B AND THE SON. 411 

not fall into the vulgarity of' aiccepting or iiajecting 
snch politeness rudelj, ■ ; '^ > 

Grandcourt put up his telescope. oaAsilHiy*^ Theresa 
% plaintation of sngar-ieanes at ihe foot of that rd^li: : 
should you like to look?" , i ; . ' . 1 i . : 

Gwendolen-said, "Yes^ please," cemem baring thaifi 
she mtigt try and interest herself im 8U'gar*canefi as 
something outside her pergonal ■ affaira Th^n Giki'id^'i 
opurt would S¥aik'> up and down and smoke for a 
long while, paiasing oconsiotially to poiat.outa 
sail on the horizon^ and at last wtodild' «eat Miibftelf 
and look at Gwendolen with,, his narbow^' insfmov* 
able gaze, as if she wete part of the ooiiiplete 
yaobt'; while she, oonBcious of Ideiiig looked at^ 
was -exerting her mgernuitynofcio meet 'his ey«is^ 
At dinner he woiild. remark that the fruit }^a8 g^tn 
ting stale^ and theff .must . put in somewhere i&wt 
mOTe ; or, observing 'that' she; did. 'not /drink ihe 
wine, he asked her if she- would .like sdny otheif 
kind better. A lady was' obliged to 'respohd to 
these things suitably ; and even ; if . she had hot 
shtrunk from quarrelling on other groundsy quarrel* 
Kng with Grandco«rt 'was: impossible : sk^' niight 
as well have madie aiig^ remarks to a ddngerous 
serpeht ornamentally ooiled in her <6abin [without 
invitation. And what sort of dispute' coul^i a womati 
of any pride and dignity begin OnayaohtVi . ■ ,- 

Grandcourt had an. inteitee satisfaction ^in leading 
his wife captive after this feehion: it gaVe'theit 
life on a 'Small 'scale a- royal repreedntatioiifci .and 
publiciiby in which everything famiMar;iwas got rid 
of, and eveorybody: must do wbat' waq expected 'of 



412 DANIKXn . DERONDA. 

theili> wliatever. inight.be> tlieir,; private' protestr^the 
protest (kept strictly private) adding to- 1 the piqu- 
ancy of despotism. . :;. .. ; 

To Gwendolen; who- even in the freedom of h^c 
maiden time had had very^. fetiiit glimpses of any 
heiioiam' or sublimity, tlwe medium that noV thrust 
itself .everywhere befor^ her view ; was this hus^ 
band ^aud h<er felatiod i to him. ) TJaie! beings closest 
to u6, -whether an lovd or . hat^^ aie- ; often virtually 
our intenrpr^ters of the world> and isom^ featifce(n+ 
headed' gentleman, or lady! wluom iia>. passing we 
regreit: to take as legal tender! for a 'human, being 
maj?f, be ' acting as a ;melaBchoIy theory of life in: 
the 'mihds of '> thode who live with tlielm — likte a 
piieqe of y fellow <alnd wavy, glass'' that distorts farm 
and makes' colotr an ! affliction. : ;. Their itri vial sen- 
tei^ces, their petty standards, their loiw suspicions^ 
their ioveless ennuis maij. be. inka^dhg. somebody relse's 
life no better than a promenside thi-oAgh-a painthecm 
of ugiy idols. Gwendolen had thal^ kindi of Window 
befi>re her^' affecting iJie i distant equally : with thb 
near; Same 'unhappy wivps'aro soothed ' by ■ the 
poissibilitj^ tliat they may/ bd€ome ; mothers ; bui 
Gwendolen felt that to desire a- child 'fiolr 'herself 
would have! been a > consenting to \ the;, completion 
of the injury ' she' had been guilty of. She was 
reduced to dread lest -she ■ shpiild become a mafcher.^ 
It vW^as' not th)B image o£ a new ' sweetly -budding 
life that eartie as a vifeioh'of deli veranoe from the 
monotony ofdietast^: it was an image, of another 
sort. - In the irritable, fluctuating stages of diespahrj 
gleamiB &p hope . cam^ /in the form of !some possible 



BOOK VII. T/HE^ MOTHBBIA^D THE SON. It 18 

acoidettt • \ i To: I d^eU . >ofi th«^ beni^ity of acoiident 
was. a • Eefuge ixom i worse i ^empiationrf : / , j < »' > . - . • 
.. Thd embitterment of ; hatrfed i»'Ofti^ii.as unaeoounti- 
able io i&ia3ookerS'aiS thetgrbwih of ^le^oted lovbj<aDd 
it not oxil)^ seelaiS'biltiB irealllrJnHOiQtjof direcjti ifeliikiqH 
with ally DTitTtard Gauiistaflio /be>ailleg8dj PaBsjbaiis 
of the natiire'of .seedj and l^knds tiOTiriBhbieiit withiii( 
tending: to >a . predominacace twhioh ^detenimieBiall 
€urrent8 towainda: i itselfy abd ; makec^ ' tbe whole i life 
its tributary.: [Axjd [thie tintemaestffbrni of -hatred 
is ttetj footed) ill 'feai^i which* .(j^biupels. to (Bilienoe 
arid driiv/e8:.veheiaeiBc©' intp''4 eHpnstructive' viodio- 
tivenesi^, an . inlLai^airy adnihSilatioii * of the; detestdd 
tjbjeot^ somfething i like ' - the . hiddem' rites '• • dH^ ves^ 
geahcd with ■ iwhich • the i persecuted >h»i^ made a 
xiark j <vlBnt • for their . rage^ ' .'aiid . soothed ' tHeir' 8uflet»- 
ingiiato dunibness. .iSueh; hiddeo; rites wfent* on 
in the aecrecy . of ' Gwondoleb^B noind;, but < liot ' ' with 
soothing effect-r-raflicor iMrith. the 'effect "oif ai strugt 
gling'< terror.! Side by riiieiwithiithe dread of' h^t 
hufeband bad grown- the'i' self- dread •xli^hichiiirgied 
her to flebftom the pniiirBTiinig iniagefa> wrought : by 
hec pentoipiiiiipulsi^j; The- .vision of lieripa$ti wrong- 
doing^. Janid what'it)hadi!lOTOught«om!)lher)'caitie i^th a 
pctle ghastly iliuniination-oYer everjr: imagined fleed 
that was -a radh. effort = at freed6ni»,. isuch' asj she" haid 
made ':^,hBr marriage. MoreOTier^ she .'had, leamfed to 
secjej^l her acts through 'the imprerisi<m fchey wotilii 
make - on Deroada : whateTer -relief' raighti ; iome • to 
lier, she could uot sever .it ftoni thfe IJndgmeiitJQf 
her that would be created .in his-mfud/ iN©t oi»^ 
word of flattery, af.indnlgencie, iaf; dependeio^' on 



414 .. DANIEL ©BRONDA. 

herifovouT) could be festened on by her in dll their 
intercourse, to Tfeaken his Tertradning power otgt 
her (in; this way Derondsi's efib#t orer himself was 
repaid) ^ and aoiiid the dreary : uzkcertainties of her 
spdil^ life the pOBsitilis reHiedies> that- lay in his 
naindi^ nay, the;. reinaedJjr thai lay in hdr feeling for 
hiin; made her t only !hope« H<e seamed to her a 
terrible:- browed langei from whom : ske ' eould not 
think of concealing any deed so a&to' win an igno- 
rant regardi &om) him>r it belong^ to. the' nature 
of thmr relation that she should be liruthfial, for his 
power over her had begtin in the liaising of a self- 
diseontient which oouM. b© s»tisfied only by gen- 
uine change. But in no concealpi^eht had sh6 now 
any* iconfideDice : her 'vision of what she had to 
dreiad took' Ebore decidedly ; than ever the form of 
some fiercely impulsiVe de^d, 45ommitted ats in a 
dream that she. would instantaneously wake from 
tot JSnd the effects i^eal though the images had 
beeii ofsQse: to; find d«Uih under her hands, but 
instead , of I darknesb, daylight ; instead of i satisfied 
ha-tred, the dismay of guilt ; instead of freedom, 
the palsy of a new toror-^a white dead face from 
which she was , foiT' ^ever trying to • flee and for ev^r 
held 'back.' . She < remembered. Deronda's ' words : 
they were c6ntinjBialIy recurring in -her thought— 

" Turn faxxr fear into a ' safeguard. Seep your 
dread fixed on the idea 6f increasing yout remorse. 
, , M Take your fear as a i safeguard. ' It is like 
t^uiokness of hearing. It may make car|sequence8 
paasionately presen^^ to you.'* / 

And io it 'wa& In Gwendolen's ccjfnsciousness 



/" 



BOOK VII. THE »M0TH1SB ■ AND THE SON. 41 fe 

Temptation and Dreads imet and stared like two pale 
phantoms, each seeing itsialf lin the dthar^— ^eaofe 'Ob* 
stracted, by itsownimag^; and all the ^hiI6 her 
foUer self behiald the ajiparitiond abd Bdbbed foT 
deliverance from them. ' • -. > j '• . 

Inarticulate pifayers, no mocre 'definite than a ciry^ 
often swept oitb from .Her /into the! vast siience, tm* 
broken, except by her hnsband'is breathing or -the 
plash of the wave cor the Screaking of l^emasti'^ but 
if ever she thc^aght-of definite help, it fcook^the'form 
of Deronda-s ptesenoe ^^nd ' Wioards^ of the! sym.^thy 
he might have for hei^ of the ^flirection ho inight 
give her.' It waS fecmmtiiDaes. after a white+lipped, 
fiercei-eyed tetn^^tatioa Iwith unirdering fingers liad 
■made its demon-visit t^aot these best liomeiits of ini- 
wardjcrying and clinging for: iefieue woxlld ooniie to 
her, and she would lie with Wide-open eyes, in which 
the rising tears seeideda blessing,: and. thelthbught, 
" I will not mind if I cati keep)froim getibing wicked," 
seemed an answer to the indefinite prayer.. < /• 

So the days passed^ taking tli^m with light bifeezes 
beyond arid about the .BaJeiwrio Isles, and then . to 
Sardinia, and then with gjemtle. change persuading 
them inorthwfeird again towaords Corsica^ ..But this 
floating, gently-'Wafted existence, with its apparently 
peaceful influences, was becoming as bad; as a night- 
mare to Gwondoll^n^ 

*^ How long'are wo, to /b^ yachting ? " she ventured 
to ask,ome day after they ha^ been touq^ring at 
Ajaccio, and the meUe fa^t of choJag© ^in goi|]>g fashore 
had given her a r&ii$i frcfm sOm^ lOf the thoughts 
which '^eemfed now to. c^ng abo,ufc tiie v^i/y rjgging 



41P .,(i. |.; (DANIEL (DDJftONDAj. :/ ' 

oft^e yesBiili linix wilbh tbeiadrf in:thd red- silk oai)iti 
bfelorjf >: and \ mleike the siiialL oif the sea odieuB.- ) i • 

.^* What else Ishbuld we do?" "saad Gf-ahdconrt. 
" I'm not tiied of it- I dpn't sfee why we shouldn't 
stay out any length of time. There's lees' to- feore 
one- m thiis way. And 'whene. would you go to ? I'm 
sick .of fofceigH places. -lAndwe shaM 'hate /enough 
of Eyelands* ; ' Wbuldyou rcLtherlbe iat Eyelandsf ^' 
' f*Oh no,"*iii;aijd Gwendolen,; mdiffemntfy, findiiig 
all places alikel undesirable las sobn as'sh© imagined 
herself and her husbaaad/iAthemi' ;^* I pnlyi wondered 
how. longi yoii' would like :11iis;"" i . •/ : • 

" I "like J^achtingllongeorithaii"! Kke^ atiythitng else," 
said Grandcouci^'^^aTDid I Had none last year.. I sup^ 
pose you are foeginniing tcr tir^Joif it. ' Womefn ar€^ so 
confomndfedly whiuasical. j.Tihey eipect everything 
to "give 'way 'to : them:'?' ji "// ■ ■• ■■..',■.■,■ 

. ** Ohi dear^fffio.!'? said Gwendolen, Icftting out het 
scorn in a fiute-lifce"t©ne* ^*I never iespect y^^'to 
give way." r , ^.i* ■!.•:•:'. •• i • ■ ■ 

"Why should I ? 'V feaid': ftraiidooutt/, mtlvhis in- 
ward Voice, lookibg'art b^t, and then cfaoomng an 
oriange-^^for 'tjiey werei 64^ ifcablB.- » .:.;!i 

She ' Aiade up her mindt to iai length of 'yachting 
that she could' not see beyond ; -but' Uhe ne^pt day, 
after a sqttall which had ^ made her rather ill for the 
first time, he came down to her and' said*— » ' « '' 
■ ^^' Thero*^ been ' the •de\'41^s' 'Own' work in ■ the- bight. 
The akipper sayiS \^el shall h'av«e to stay atOerio* fot 
a We(^k white thittgd ate- s^t right.-'' - • 

*' Do' yoti ' mind • 'that ?•"' eai^ 'Gwendofen; who >ky 
looking Very »i<^hl<fe amidst her white drapery* ' 



BOOK Vn. THM ^S>^^m' A^iTD THE SON. 41i7| 

'f I skoul4'tUuk.B0i Wl*).^aiittt to 1p^ lw;oilu^ at 

Genoa?" , •' , . > : .! ,, ? .! -, . .. 

■ ^^/It will be'.a.cUiwig6^"'saidG,w0ndMWii; m^de ft 
yttlel mcttiiii(:>us ' by lier laugiKJr., . ; ►. , ; . , 

" / don't want any change. Besides, the p.lapo U, 
intolerable; arid one (caq'tiinQye aJoagtl^eyqads- ; I 
shall go oiit in a boai>)aB>I^UB^d to do, ,au4.niapage, 
it Biyself. . On& carifget.xid.of a fejyifhoujB Q^fiW. 
day in ; itHat way, in3<ieiid ) of. , aliiving : in , ijb . dan^n^^b^Ie 
bcrteLV < ir ' \'i\ ■'. ;, ., ■'• , / , • .,.,.'• ;. ;., ,. 

Herefiwasla prospect jwhiohhedd- hope ip| it,;.|Qw^p;- 
dolen thought of hours when she would be alqne, 
since Grandcourfc would not' iwamt to tafep her- in ii}he 
said boat, iahd iw her- ex«ilteitioBi at, ithis unlopk^d-fof , 
relief, she bad wild,' oontradictoify &n.Qies,,pf whaft, 
ihe might 'do with her ; feeedom^n that ** ri^piiiing 
away" which she had already innuttiierg^ble tiiueK- 
seerti lio be: a Wbrse eYil;tbari: any. actual. •enduraufce, 
fiiiow finding! new arguni^itiits as an, escape from her 
worsiB' self ii. Also, visionary : relief pnj.a par.wH}! 
th<d '^noy bf a prisoherthfefc thdi night ,>yii3kd m^y 
Wbw do-wrn th»' w-all 6f hi«. iprisoni and fl4ve. lam fro^a; 
desperate devices, insinuated, iteelf as <a better i.^-l' 
temative, lawful to wifehi fbn. ^'y 

The > fresh ; cuirent of . expectation revived . heri 
energies,' and enabled her to take- all: things with acn 
air of cheerfulness and Alacrity that made achaoigie: 
marked enough to be noticed by Iter hutebandi '• She, 
Watched through the -evening lights to the;. sinking 
of thef'iAioon with- lees of aw^d loneliness th^n wasj 
habitual' to her**- nay, withua va^e inopression that 
iu this mighty fr^^'icif things there 'might be SQ£ue( 



418^ DAl^IEii DteR6N0A. 

prepai^tibn (ff rescue for hen Why not J-'-nsince the 
weather had just been on her side. This possibility 
of hoping, after her long fluotxiftrtion 'am«d f^^ars, was 
like a first return of hungei- to the long-knguishing 
patient. : . . • 

' She wals waked the next morning by the casting 
of the siniohor in the port' of Genoa— ^ waked frdm a 
stratngely - lAixed dream in which she felt herself 
escaping over the Mont Gem8,:^and wondering to 
find it warmer even in the moonlight on the siiow, 
till' suddenly she met Derbnda, w^otold iber to go 
back. • ' /<-'.. 

In an hour or so froni tliai 'dreain she actually 
rii^t Dferonda. But it wa^'on -the palatial .staitcase 
of the Italia, where she^tfas- fueling warm in her 
light 'A/iroollen dress and sttawihiat ; wnd her husband 
Was by her side. > 

There was ct start of silrpriee in. Derondia before 
he could raise his hat alid (pass on. 'The mbmeoifc 
did not seetn to favour ^my clover greeting, and ike 
cirbitrastatices undet* which they had last parted 
miide him doubtful: whether Grandoourt would be 
civilly inclmed to hini. i i^ I 

The doubt might cartaiaily have been . chaoged 
int6 a disagreeable certainty, for Grandcourt on this 
unaccountable ' appeara/noe of Deronda at G^noa of 
all places, immediately tried to conoeivc how there 
could have been an arrangement .between him and 
Gwendolen. It is true that befijro they were weli 
ill their rooms^ he had seen hev^ dafficult it was to 
shape such an- arraxigembnt wiih Any probabilityi 
be^g too cool - headed 1 to find it at once easily 



BOOK VII. tB& MOTHSR AND THE SON. '4'1« 

credible tha* OWenddl^tt h^bd i«)it oiily while in libii- 
^on hastened' to inlbn» • : i)e^€mdii of the yabhting 
project, but had poeted a; letteir to him frorb : Mar- 
seilles or B^rcekma, advigliag Mm to travel to Genoa 
in time for the chance ®f meeting her there, or of 
receiving » letter ifrom h&i telling of some other 
destination — all whidh miit haveifaifjlied a imirao- 
nloue foreknowledge in her^andin Peronda a bird- 
like facility in flying about and perdhitig idly. Still 
he Hv»B there, and tbdwigh Gtandc6urt would ! not 
make a fool of himself by fabrication» that otiiferB 
Imight' call preposterous, he 'wad • rjot^ > for •■ aUi ^lihat, 
disposed to admit fulliy' that Deponda's presence SvaiB 
so far as Gwendolen wks^ancemed a mere accident. 
It was a disgusting foot ; tbat was. enough 5- and nb 
doubttshe was well pleased* A man oiit of temper 
does not wait for proofs before- feeling towards, all 
tilings animate and ioanifdaiia as if they were; in I a 
conspiracy against him, but at once thrashes his 
horse or kicks his^ dog in caQseiq[aehce4 ' Graiidcourt 
felt towards Gwendoleii and Deronda ad; if. lie knew 
them to be in a conspiracy against him, and here 
was an event in league with them. What he tobk 
for clearly certain -^ and. so far he divined the truth 
— was that Gwendolen was . now > counting on an 
interview with Deronda whenever her husband's 
.back was turned^ - , 

As he sat taking! his cdfifee at a convenient angle 
for observing her, he discerned something which he 
felt siurei was the' eifect of a secret delight^-- some 
fresh ease in moving and speaking, somje J)eculiar 
: meaning it her e'yfes/ whatevet she looked on./ Oei^ 



tairily hes! .tyoublee hadlui^ iBdcf q4) het iDecitity. Mrs 
Grandcourt wi.s tlaoEid^KiiiQeffritib^ii G\^e]»iolj@n Hah- 
leih: iher grade. and.. QxJ)resteojQ iw^ere:: informed by a 
greater variety of ioiwiurd experience^ .giving inew 
play .to .her featuiiesyuaew a/ttifeiides. in naovi^mejjjb 
and repose; her. .whiolie ^pearsoti (and; w Jbad: tb© 
nameless' something, 'wliich often mikes i. a womah 
taone interesting, after n^arriage than, befojiej less con- 
fident . that all . fthiflgft ■ are . aotording^ i to. her opinion, 
acid j^et with, le^a ofide/ir^e shyness -^ mcwe ftdly 
a hitman being.: i } • •. . •,:••. 

. . This , morning, the vbeiriefitB of- the voyage- seemed 
to be fluddeply t^yeaEng ^Jhernisel^esiiin a new elas- 
ticity of mien. As - she . rose > fix)m the . table and put 
hef ;.two heavily-jeweHed: hamds on eaph side of hdr 
neckyrndoordingto her vi^ont, s^ie had>.ncv art to cott- 
^tea.\ ' th»fe sort of 'joyous ' expeotatiom which makes 
the' present more bearable? < than usaal, jiiistias when 
at i man means to go but he ifindB it easier, to be 
lamiaible t6 the family £&r a qudrteir of am: hour be- 
.forehand. >' It id not ii)ti^>OB8i<bl<^ that it terrier who^ 
pleasure was. concerned/ wciqld: perceive those ami- 
able si^^ns ahd know their meanihgi — know why his 
inasteri stood in a peouliar way, talked with alacrity, 
and' even 'had- a peculiar gledni in. his eye, so that 
oil the least niovomeni -towards ihe door, the! terrier 
would scuttle to be in time. And, -in dog \feshion, 
Grandcoiirt discerned -tiae signs bf Gwenkiolen's 
expfectation, finterprfetiog. iihem' witili (the riarEow 
' correctness ' whieh • leaves a ' w^dlrld of unknown feel- 
ingi-bejiindi.' - '- - . -.. -..i/ ... 

' ^A.-H*-jti»t ring, please, and* tell Oibbs to order 



BOOK VII. — .tmi ICd^THER: AND THE SON. 421 

,-some diniiev.'fcwr jus^at tih&ree/!' said- Gmnaboiirt, a[» hfe 
too iTUae, took .ooii a;cigar^'iand then streteheid hife 
band .towai'-ds thj©> hat. that .lay iiean " Vm going io 
send Aiigiis! to findimeia little sailing - boait • foi^ tis- to 
^o Out in ; one that- 1 cin mapag^ with you'iafc the 
tiller.. iltfsinDoonMSQonly .pleasani; theefeJ fine eveii*- 
iiigs-— the Leasil bearing of ahytiiing we can da** -■ 
' . -Q.wefedolei) tiimed oM : hhere ^ias ikot only the 
cruel . disappaiiitineflit >-+ itheore . was ' the iinymedifeite 
eon^iotion; thiit hier huaband- had yeterhiiti^d to ikke 
hei^ because he/vwbiildinot leave 'her out bf his sight; 
land probably : this dual solitude 'in 4ai<b'oat: was''the 
more attractive to him because it would be ^eaii- 
soiaeitc her.J. The=^y*w«lB not onJthe fplank-ifeland ; 
she felt it :the •mctt-e 'poBsible to begin a contest* 
But the gleaming couMkent* had ; dle|i put ■ of her. 
Thenre wasA ohanige /in her like/ that of a igl'a'cier 
lafber.-sniafiet-.- ...':•■■.;: ■'>.'■•■''• : •■ . I>>' ' '• ^ ■^ 

"I would rather not go; fin the boat/'' dhe: sftidl 
•^} Take ' some^ oiie- else iv\fitfe? «yoik/* '. ; -' . ' ' ' 

I?* Very well 9 if * you doh^t go, I- shall not go," 
filaid Grandoonirfe. " We shall sta;^ .suflfocating here;, 
that's all." ■ -< •, ■ !!>••' ■■ !/• "-'"i •■• 1 '': ■: 

'♦ r can't bear going in a boat;" isaid GwendiGlen, 
angrily. ir • ■ • •,■-.'•:. ...,,- . /• '.■u- 

: f " Thai is'a; sudden ^change," saidlGrahdootirt,! ^itl 
a slight sineerj ' '^ Btrt 'sibce you dieollne,. we 'ishall 
stay indoors." - jI ■ ' • " • ': i' 

He laid down his hat again, 'Kfc his-cigaf, anxl 
walked, up and down the itoom, pausttig' now and 
-then to look ont'of iibhel wiMows* 'Gwendolen's 
:temper told" her to- ' ptoei6t. She '■ ki^ew t^^ry weM 



422 DANIEL iDBRONDA. 

nOw.that Grandcoiirt would not g© without her; 
biit if he must tyifamiise over her, he should not 
do it precisely in the way he would - choose. She 
would, oblige him to stay iu the hoteL Wilihout 
speaking again ^he passed into the adjoining bed>- 
room, and threw herself ijQtp a chair with her anger, 
seeing no purpose or. issue — oiily- fitoliiig that ^he 
wlave of evil had rushed back iipon: her^and dragged 
hQjl iaw^ frojU her mometttary !breathing*f)lftee. 

.Presently Granddourt caine in with his i hat. on, 
•but threw it oif and sat down sideways on a chair 
-n^rly .in frlout of her, saying in his superfiodal 
drawl — ■ . ; ■,,.*•. ! • . ,■ 

"Have I you <bome round yet? or do you. find it 
agreeable to be out of temper? You make things 
uncommonly pleasant for mfii" - :• 

" Why do you want to make i^em unpleasant for 
me f " said Gwendolen, getting helpless again, and 
feeling, the hot tears rise* • • 

" Now, will you be good enough -to say what it is 
you have to complain of? "- said Grandcourt, looking 
into: her eyes, and using his most inward voice. •* Is 
it that I stay indoors when you stay ? " 

She oould give no answer. The sort of truth that 
made any excuse for her anger could not be utteredi. 
In the oonfiict of despair and humiliation she began 
to sob, and the tears rolled down her oheeks-^-^a form 
of agitation which she had never shown before in 
her husjiand*s priBsencei. 

I "I hope this is usefiil," said Grandcourt, after a 
moment or two. ^^AU. Icasi say is, it's: most con- 
foundedly unpl^asaht. What the deyil Women cat) 



BOOK VII. — TOT HOffHER AND THE SON. 42.3 

seeivL this kind of things I don't know«.< YowB&e 
sopaethijjg to be got by it, of course. All 1 csan see 
is, that we shall b^ shut/ up here .Wbiea ;\ve might 
have hew hftvijig. a pleasaoat efcil/'' ' • . i 

".Let ins gts), tb^," »aid Gvvf^dolen, impetnouslyw 
" Perhaps we elhall be.- drbwwd/' . She b©ga» to sob 
again* ; •. . ••/•, . ., , • ■) 

This extraordinary. beha(¥4<^nr, which hiui eyideiitly 
some relation to X)erQnda^. gay<e more definitenes^ to 
Grandoourt's conclupiondj He drew. his chair quiite 
close in fiiont of her^iandiaaidjMinijB, loW tome, '*^ Just 
be quiet aftd listen^ will Jo». ?'-!.,' . * : . ■ { ' 
I ThenB m^vsifid to be.a.iioagical effeot.i^ithiBvlosb 
vicinity* Gwendolen /(3hti9,nk and, ceased lti>/ sobj 
She kiept her eyetlids down^iand clasped her* handt; 
tightly, r .., ,.■.:•., , . ./-:..• M ..-. : 

" Let. us, unders^ad each other," said Grandcotrt, 
in the same totie. "I. kiM»w. very Well: What- thiq 
njonsen^e meaiis..,: But if you* -Suppose H am » going 
to let you make a. ft)6l of me,ju«t dismiss thattnotiotn; 
from your mind. What are you looking forWatd to, 
if you can't behaye f properly lais my wife? There is 
disgrace for ybu, if you iifce to bavc it^ but I don-t 
know anything else,') latid aa to Deronda,> it's quite' 
clear that be han;g^ back from you,*' ' . . .* ^ 

" It is all false I" said Gwendolen, bitterly. '.'^fYotii 
don't in the lea&t imagine. whit is in my mini* I; 
hajve seen enough of the.disgteace that comes in that 
way. And you had beftteir leiave me. at liberty tc^ 
speak with any one I like. It would bfe : better for 

you." .. -i: ■• , ^ : '"..•■i :• : 

" You will allow me tib judge of thatj"- fiaid Qrknd- 



424 . "'i J DANIEL' -DiEHONMi •'■ -'''' 

oom-tj lising and itiovm^ to a little Ajstande toWaitls 
the windoivkr, but standing ^ thferte playing wiih his 
whiskers' as if he w^re a^Aiting something. • 

Gwendolen's woi-ds hftd 'soclea*'and''ti*emendonff 
a meaning for i 'herself, that she thought they must 
have expressed tt to JGhrfeiidcoart, awA hsid no sobiier 
uttered them than she dreaded their effect. But his 
sotil was gaTifisoned against pres^titimentS and fears : 
be had thel courage atn^i . eonfidenee thiAt' belong to 
dd)mination', and he wa^ «it that" moment feeling per- 
fectly satisfied thftt; he h^ld 'his^ Wife' Wilii bit and 
bridle. By the time they had bedn* maimed a year 
she.woiild <cease to be restive. 'H<b iotttotied' stfend- 
irig. with his aif of ibdifference, ► till she feli hef 
hfebitmal stifling consciousness^' df Jiatiilg an im- 
movable obstruction in her life, like the nighlimaref 
of beholding a- single form- -khia* senfett'to^Arredt all 
passage i though the \rideoobfttry 'liefe open. '' 

^*^niat. deoision have/. you come to*?" he said,^ 
presently looking at hen^ " What (kitiers shall I 
give?" • : . -M. : . ./ .'-•' • •:"-.. 

• "Oh, let us go," said (Jwendiolen. • llie Walls had 
begun to be an imprisoMfiteOt^/a^id vrhile ihetHs was 
breath ini this* man he would 'have the masteiy over 
hef. His words had the power of th'umb-screws and 
the cold touch of the rack. * To resist was to act' like 
8l stupid. animal unable to measure results. 

- So the boat was ordered. ' She even went down 
to= the qiiay again with him to see it before mid-day. 
Grtindcourt had recovered perfeit quietude of tempeif, 
and had a scomfuil satisfaction in the attention given 
by.lth© na«tical grbups to.the m?7or€f,' owner of the 



BOOK VII. XHK M-OTJIBSiiAW THE SON. 425 

baH(i8ptt^.:ya<i>Lt wll4cU'iha4-j^<?fc} pw-t in-for.repairs^ 
mi ^hol bemg \e,n JBT^li«toian. iwas, natuyilly so U 
l^idji?:!^ pn, the e^g|.,tb$fct'ilae ;WuW, manage a slail wifch 
ti3[e( isamei . i^a^ . th«(t: ". be ,< pojaJ4»aptotna^! &. hwr»e. • 'The 
^•zlt of i0xviHatiQ» .H^, hq4 dteoeamed la iGiweiidoltiri 
tliBt Hjwjjiming'flbe; tQjv-slitipugbifi thelt:ghe di»o«rried m 
h'kk;; an(jL it ,)(v^9(B> ttut^f ^\i^% bq hs^ de^tihis mincL^oii 
thi|T{bo^i$jg, f^tyi •^tlGi«4 out }iia;pur|)ose .aa=«ome-i 
tjaiftg. thflit pepfii^, /mdgjft .ndt • iex|>eot , hkilb ito Ido, with 
tb0:grftt^d( 4tnpeildeUofifa.^t»o%..ivill//w]:ttok: haft 
^^^tba^g bf(ttert to i eit^rt; : ritseM • upon. : • ; He ■ fead- • re4 
Wwkibld ph,ym'0i»l.PQtiifeg(e^»iaa<i: wafr. pj©iid.;©f'it-4^ 
©r iraihftr ibeilhad aligr^efrt cotit^K^)! /forfjkiae ooarscar^ 
bulkiex ,vs^n. tvljp-.gienemUy had le»9^ ^Moifeover, he 
y>ra$ i^|i@ that* Cr «^©iidoltai >ahouWl go i^ith Mm* ' < : '/ 
I /Af<d vheti' tjbiey .cfttae. dowii,.iagi^iii /fetiftve! o/clook, 
eqmppe(L:for,itheit bg^ting^'ftb^^ceaeMWfl* iafe g©od aid 
a' tb^jata^^i i^pj-^s^Rt^tioQ for^aU Ijeb^ldj^yB* '.« Thifl 
handsomBj fair-skinned English epupie »w»nifestiiig 
tb^ usual ^q^tricitj^.QfttbeiWiB9;Jbi^, hotk of iHfem 
pi;QU<^:P^le^'s^d iDalfla,):^itho«tta(|na>ite.'0§ theht feces, 
mfjyipg- like <^e|iitujrftS' who- fweilt^ ifudfillin^ . fck isupen 
i?l^ttt?*al ^eist?Qy-T-fti,wai?:;a thin® torgQ oijiltj add «ree; 
a: thing. itQ p^iftt. ,; >The .bi^^sband-^ hbeatjiback, and 
q.n4s» .BhoiWd.yqxy'Weil in hi^ clo&e-jBttia^. dresR, 
ao.d the. wife. was declared i ito be. like a statne; i' . 
i'l Some 8Ugg^fttibn4 w«re f proffered concemingia 
possible €hangie.i in the breezfe,'tod the necessiary 
oare in- p:iittijag about^ bitil.;:GraBdcoiirt'i.f>manlier 
in^i^ I the - . spleaJsers upjderrit^hd . . thdt they werie f ioio 
o|Rcious,.,9«id,'thftt h$.:fa;ie1/<c betteir than" the JV/ ■ 
Gwendolen, keeping her iijij)ias9iblel?air,!asi'itbey 



426 DANIEL DEKONDA- ' ' 

moved aw^y frotti the straiid, felt her imagination 
obstinately at work. • Slke'waa ndt'-^ald'^of hay 
outward dangens-^siie was afraid'of her own wishei^, 
which were taking shapes poi^sible and- imposfsible, 
like a' cloud of demon-faces. She 'wife afraid of liar 
©wn hatred, -which under the cold iron toiich^ tlat 
had compelled her to - day had gaithere^' a fi^ce 
intensity. ; As $he sat guiding -tlife tiller urder 
her huikband-8 eyes^ doing just wha(t he told her, 
the strife 'within her seemed iflte Her oWn effort 
to esoapefrom herselfi Sh^ dung to Uhd thmg'ht 
of Dferonda: she piersuaded herself that he Vould 
not go aw^y while she tras ther^^hekneY that 
she needed help. ' The ^eme that he was there 
would save' her fb6m ac<ftrig ©tit Ihe evil ^thin. 
And yet quick, quick, cahie images^ ' plana^ of fevil 
that would come again lind fefedze her in 'tie night, 
like furies' preparing tti!^ deled that th^' would 
staraighttmy avenge. '■'■'''.' ( . .:■ 

They were taken ou* of the port ^lld' earthed east- 
ward: by a' gentle' breeije. Some rfot^ tempered 
the sunlight, and the hour' wttiS^'dlw^ys 'de^eining 
tawards the supreme beauty dT' eVeAltig. Saik 
larger and smaller changed their aspect like sen- 
sitive things, and made a oheerftil companionship, 
alternately noar and fari ' Th4 grand eity slibxie 
more vaguely, the mountains looked oxit above it, 
and there was 'stillne«8 as inl an island ' sanctuary. 
Yet suddenly Gwendolen let her' baiids fall, and 
said in- a scarcely audible tone, "God help mel" 

"What is' the matter?" said Grandoourt, not dSs- 
tin^ishing the wonls. ' ' * 



BOOK VII. THE M0l5lER AND THE SON. 427 

"Oh, nothing," said Gwendolen, rousing herself 
from her momentary forgetfulness and resuming the 
ropes. 

"Don't you find this pleasant?" said Grandcourt. 

"Very." 

'* You admit now we couldn't have done anything 
better?" 

"No — I see nothing better. I think we shall go 
on always, like the Flying Dutchman," said Gwen- 
dolen, wildly. 

Gr&ndcourt gaveher oH© of hifenart-ow, examining 
glances, and then said, ^^ it you like, we can go to 
Spezia in the morning, and let them take us up 
tber^.''; , : ....... ,.., : .„.. .;■<.= .. . . -' 

. , "No \ I shall iiike nothing) Jj>^t|ter than thie." ; 
.. ~^\ Y&^. W^^ ; -w/e')l. ^Q th.e,;«e^nie to-morrQW. . Btit 
we must be tximing in soon. I shall put ,Jii,boiujl:." ; 



J ■ •! ■ • ■ 1 ' l' . 



.: i4i38.| 






.-'..'.'.■ . ;; I ' • T •,••.,.1 /J 1 ,'.''.,., . . / r , . 
** Ritorna a tua scienza 
Piii se^ata il beoa, e co^i ia doglieoza.V 
;' ■' r! t m; .(it : li ! . i ,.'-....' '..;, .." mX- 
When Deronda met Gwendolen and Grandcourt on 
the staircase,' Ilia ' ihtkd ' wa'd SeTioisly ■ pifedccupied. 
Hei had juat'beeh Sttinmoiied to -the second interview 
with- his* 'lAother.' "' ' .■■'"='. -li .'-'i . "' '.«( 

In two hours after his parting from her he knew 
that the Princess Halm-Eberstein had left the hotel, 
and so far as the purpose of his journey to Genoa 
was concerned he might himself have set off on his 
way to Mainz, to deliver the letter from Joseph 
Kalonyraos, and get possession of the family chest. 
■ But mixed mental conditions, which did not resolve 
themselves into definite reasons, hindered him from 
^ departure. Long affcer the farewell lie was kept pas- 
sive by a weight of retrospective feeling. He lived 
again, with the new keenness of emotive memory, 
through the exciting scenes which seemed past only 
in the sense of preparation for their actual presence 
in his soul. He allowed himself in his solitude to 
sob, with perhaps more than a woman's acutenesa of 



BOOK VII. :PHB,MQaiHKB.AiND THE SON. 429 

tioiii{)aBai^y 0Yfin that, woman'is life! .«oi HQadr. ito bis^ 
ap^.ypt sp'irewotei^j fle tJ^held th« ^otlA.cbftilged 
for him by thi^ i certitude of tiejB ; ibhat altered the poise 
x>f ihd^es brnd-feai^^ and gat^e^ fadni (a; aew sense < of 
fellowe^ip, aSiif nhder ocxv^er ofithe night; he. had 
joii^edi ithe yrscwag ;hand ofli WazMlerers, .und-fotind 
Sviili ' H^ ma& - of onoaming > 'thdt [ i the it^nta I of his 
kindred' weire >gmuped &[r bS, i He > bad a qiliYer- 
ii&^iiiqfhjtgindtiVe-./^eiise oi.nfAoBe l-eltttion :toi the 
gfand&theriwhb'hod beeii afaMated by strong liiiil- 
jralfe^B and/lbeloved ihcnight%(whieh were - now< per-i 
i^pflf being ii'oa^ed firom theiir slumber wiil^hiii.' himself. 
And.thfcoiigbrifcU this pa^siehdte meditation [Miordecax 
and >■ iDiiiah . wiare*' aiwia^s piidseait^ . : a(s> ) baings < who 
(Gasped hands "with I ihin) in.Jsytnpathetic Ailemcea 
fi! Of'ttiibh>^Tiie]c, r^pcmdive* fibre was D^dnda iniadey 
pndte.thiEit !mantle> tof self - controlled i-^eethre into 
whidi! early I 'experience 'had ithrown io; id&Uch of 
his /yordiJkg, ^strength."' • •:"' . •.!••' ■■.. i-:r . \ 

When the persistent ringing of a'.bell as a signal 
reminded) hjni oF thehbur he thought of looiniig .into 
BracbHtiWyandk -mafcing ithe^ brief .necessary- :prelpaira-[ 
tiins' for -fitjjirtihg by .the. • next' train:— ^thibugiht .' of > ity 
btili ' made' no Tnovemei^t M iconseit^uehcei - Wishes 
went to'r Mainz andiwhat he was t6. ^et pbasessioh 
6f'ihe*ef^to London jaiid iho. beimgs- there, t who 
made- the istroiigeatt attachments: of his life,; jbilt 
t&erei'weBei'Oth^if wishes that* clang, in. these: tnof 
paenrtB-toi €bikoa, anft- they, fce^t him whd^e.hfe w.ai 
by> /thgW) feroe'lwhiei* urges be litov linger overan iit 
terview) tha^ darries aipiieseritiment of final fare weH 
tm of oT^er^-yiadowiiigtabrrow. Deronda did. net .fori- 



430 DANIEL DBRONDjiy: ' ' '' 

mally say, "I wiD stay over' td»dight,' bedatmeit is 
Fridayi and I should like lb go-tO' the «r<^rimg 
servic© at the synagogue wh^ih^ 'they' must, all 
have gone; and besides, I may. sbe rfche Grand- 
courts i agaihi" ' But simply, instead of packihg 
tmd ringdug for hiis: bill, hie sat doing n6thibrg 'at 
all, while I ins mind went to* the • synagogile ^ and 
saw feces there jJrobably little different fi?oih those 
of: hisgraridi^ther's' tim^, and heard t the 8pan|§fhfc 
Hebrew liturgy wJoieh. had lasted;! throtlgh fthe 
seasons, of wandering .generations • Ukb :a i^kn*!; 
with .wand^ng seed!,r that' gives! the far*a£f ' laaiids 
a kinship « tb ihe. • exiWs : hoipe ~»- While, ■ <also, f his 
mind went towards- Q^wendolen^ with/ ai)xi(Mis • re« 
membcance of what had bedn/ and Iwith h half* 
admitted > impression that it WQUfld . bei : hardness ' in 
him willingly to go : away at cmoe* without making 
some efibrt, in spite, bf Grandcourt's probdble dii^like^ 
to manifest the continuance of. hie sympathy with 
her jpinoe their abrupt parting. • ; , • i' . // 

In this state <Sf mind he deferred departuire, ate 
his dinner without sense of flavour,! >ios»^ fteim it 
quickly to: find the synagogue, ahd lih passing ^thie 
porter asked if Mr and Mrs Grandoourt ,werb still in 
the hotels and what was the number of their apart^ 
ment. • The porter gave him the nuibbeir, but added 
that they were gone out boating. That informaibioii 
had somehow power enough ovisr Defondajiiy divide 
his thoughts with the niemoties wakened . among 
the sparse talitkiia and keen' dark /faces 1 of; wpr->^ 
fahippers whose way of taking -awful prayers and 
invocations with the easy. &n^liaritj?('. which might 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER' :AMD THE SON. 431 

be Called Hebnaw -dyed Italian, made him reflect 
lfti»k his grandfather^ accioarding to the PrmoesB^et 
hin'ts of' his character^: muet. have been akoQst. aa 
exoefptibtial a Jewias Mcardecai.*' Bufc'were^Dot Baieii 
of ^ardeiii zefel cand i far- reaiabing ' hop^,- >ch^wry where 
0:?to^ptionalB— rtfcje men kho had the^\Visioil8 which, 
as Mordicai safd, were thb oreatocs and^feeders of 
the >world*rT^m©o4ding aAd. feeding. uthe-.n^oue paft&ivei 
life which ^withoutt^eiii woi&ld dwiaiUcUQ ^tid.^shriyel 
inftci ithe nararbwy/bedaouty of .'insedtfe, iwtvsh^fc^iii by 
thoughts . : ibefyoaiid .the . .reach^tsii of ,t)^ aQtennss, 
Something: o£ i a : mohimfdl drnpati^no^ 1 peiirha^s add^ 
itaelf to tlBB iBoUeitodei about Giwendolen ! (ar solioi^de 
that had fi6om' • to i gvow iH his ipreseht ; relQ(^^ . from 
immediate cases) as an incitement. . to . ha^tei^ fi-pm 
the syn^iDguelandchDoae tof take^ his,«eriei|iijig.^alk 
towards' the iqulkyiy always a fayjowrit^ l^nnt.,with 
him, arldi<juet now attmotive with the vpos^iWity 
thit heutoight beuniXirtie to «ee th^,/Gr^dpourts 
ciome.'in .from theh": hoisting.: . In- this.Q$,3e,<,he. re- 
solved, .tl^atfhifttwitmld advance to ,gr.^pt .tb^m ,^^yb- 
ebrately,- aiid j^faace jBiny gronnds :tbat .the huetsiaiMi 
might have for wishing him elsewhere. 
' The: inolJaadi set behind a bank of doud,- and p|ily 
a.'foiitt .yeUowl light, vii^ giving . its iftr-e Well . ki^,i^ 
to theiwavesv rwliit)hi were agitfe-ted. by an aotiva 
breeze; ; DerOnda,,sa!untering slojwrlyv/j^vithin sight of 
what took J)ldceton the: strand, aU^eryejd the groups 
there iconcentijaKiing- their, aittentioni on a.pail^Qg boai 
wflhiph Waa.adVaricing^ swiftly land ward j. being. row;€^4 
byiitwo men. < iA.midst the clamoro?aft talk in various 
km^age«^ Deronda held it the >»}^ev, !mean^:o£ g^U 



432 . ':.', .■■.. DAMIELltDBRONM:-- .;. / ..•• t. 

iiing* infomiatifen ■ not 4b • afek qu^sticms/ bit to' blbo wi 
hiB -way Uo th^ f0tegjdtind.:an(J"b^iiah;iiii^b8tifuo)be4 
witi][e»».bf whait was- oiocuBringi'»,;cfrdlesci©|)els» were! 
beiHg^Tised) and Ibud" stateanynte; made jbhMtAbfe {boat 
h^^ld 6om©bodyr<T^ho had been: dfownitdvx One- said) 
it ivaa the'^'Zorrf ivsh6 'had gooje ©kit infria* sailing) 
boat'; anbther* m^mteaned thatothei pposibratb f fig'ure: 
he di6<5!Bm<ed iwari mibMy a^FreiioiAibHuarwh^! had no 
^lasfe 'wcltild raihe^'Say *hat 'it^iwaSiJnwKb^rfikhio/.hadf 
jpxbbabfy taik^n his wife ' out tJO'dwjJw-a/^ber^jaeotirdiA^ 
to the ■national pActiee-*^*a rema'rk iviocbffen^Eiiglisb 
Akipper ittlM^iately ' cpmnieiKted non idil' » ourt < ^ajbivo! 
idil:^ (a»^ npni^ebi^e whi^^h^-^Had iiadei^oneia (BbikliBg 
operation)', ^aiid further > ddtsmieseid byinthe idecisiofa 
that' the" r€((!jli'aing figriJrte ) rwa» dt -wooaaii^ Fob- Dcar-i 
ondst, "e^riMy exoited by fliiciuatingv fi^ns^ - the 
st]*Pkeb : ' k$f • th^ ' oars' as b^ ' ' watpfaejd theia' - .were 
dividi^d ' by SWift • • visionfi • Jof i events, • posdihie ,aiid 
impiossible,' 'whi6h' might 'h^Nre. < bwAight f about this 
isSue; oi*"this bfok^h-off .fi«tg«D(ent -dl an* issue, with 
a'woirse half •ttttdisclosed*^P'tHik»w(aiwAi lafi^abenily 
s!Brgltfehfe<i fkfein! the w&teira: vp:fln3:ii©ftijLy Mrs -^rand^^ 
court. • •■:■ '' '•• • ■• ;:.':'!''' '' . •: • •■;■■! ' ' ii 

. 'Bui) sbon' there "Was no-lbiigy 'ttiiyidoufet:! the 
boat'^Wals being piuHed to land, eind heiiba^ Qw^ub 
dolen half ralsiiig herself oii' her lands,' by/hen^wn 
effort, under her h^avy ooveriog. df. tarpaulin and 
pea-jackets— ^pale ^s one of the; sheetedldead, shiver- 
ing,' Tfdth we^ hair '^reakning^ iarWild amaKed'C^n* 
sciottsness in' h'^r eyes, as' if sh^ had 'waited t^iiin 
a world where" some judgment wit^/impunding^iand 
the beings she ^w arodndiwierd sGOuimg' toiis^iasd 



BOOK VII. — :XHE)KEOTHvBR' Alfft) THE SON. ^:3'3 

keri ' ■ -The flrgt. Mwep-wHb "jAraped te) ilttnd n*^'6 als^ 
lioet thipngb^ /.and itan «<^; the ■ isaiiJoi^e^' » bloisie • a;!)©!!! 
the» boatjiliiiaderedftDeronaafroiii ^Mvaniiiig, ein(J' kfe 
OQuld fQoJy loQk'»«^ti :whil*ei Crwendolteri'gave ficareH 
rglaoftQs, aiidi i sdemed r toi iahtimfc i#iih termk- as: ' »he 
■was.oarjBfiiilly^f'teiiftdepljr'theljbed bt^t^ knd led'iMtf by 
the stroiig^ ailitisKofj tiaase Toughy^brsi^iizisd men, 'Hfer 
wet clothes clinging about her \iui\m) afld 'aflfling 
to the impediment of her weakness. Suddenly her 
wandering eyes fell on Deronda, standing before 
her, and immediately, as if she had been expecting 
him and looking for him, she tried to stretch out her 
arms, which were held back by her supporters, say- 
ing, in a muffled voice — 

" It is come, it is come ! He is dead ! " 

" Hush, hush ! " said Deronda, in a tone of author- 
ity ; " quiet yourself." Then to the men who were 
assisting her, " I am a connection of this lady's 
husband. If you will get her on to the Italia as 
quickly as possible, I will undertake everything 
else." 

He stayed behind to hear from the remaining 
boatman that her husband had gone down irrecover- 
ably, and that his boat was left floating empty. He 
and his comrade had heard a cry, had come up in 
time to see the lady jump in after her husband, and 
had got her out fast enough to save her from much 
damage. 

After this, Deronda hastened to the hotel, to as- 
sure himself that the best medical help would be 
provided ; and being satisfied on this point, he tele- 
graphed the event to Sir Hugo, begging him to come 



434 . DANIEL DERONDA. i/ 

forthwiUi, aud <ais6 to Mr . Oasooigoie, whose 'address 
at the Ret)to)?;yf niade his riearest ti»wa way of get- 
ting (the mfornaation to Gwendolen's. mother. Cer- 
tain words of Gwendolien'b in ithe paJst had come 
back to him with the effeotiveDeBS of aii inspiration : 
ill momenti of agitated cdn£iEi89i0ii • bbe had spokc^n 
of her motheir*.s presence as at {Possible help, if dhe 
cotild h6»ve bad it. 






•.■ » >-^ : 



.1 , ■ ^ -r-, 



485 I 



CHAPTEE LVI. " '" 

- >'!' ■; • ,. .■ ■ > .;.■.' .!'../■{ f' ' 

' ' ' ' "thiftpaig, the ctirse With ^hlcithey'dled*, ' 

I could not diaw jny eyes fronirtheirs, , 
• Nirtif lift them up to pray." • ' '• . • 

. / ■ ■•■■.;■ -^^i^Bi^jpan. . : 

Derc^A, did j;ipt take ■ ofif hi^ qbthe^ ijh^t night. 
Qwendolen, , after in^ieting pn i^eeing; Liiai . ^gaj^ 
before she YfQvH consejit to be vpjdr^st,,!];^^ \>eex\ 
jy^rfeotly , ; (juiet, ; and > had ox^y;^ ; aejjfed. hiip, with a 
whispering, repressed eageyne^e^ to proijaiBe that Jie 
would .cozne ,to -h^r when sher if^nt for :bim. in the 
morningv Still, the pos^ibility.;that.* chaixge nught 
cpjcne qverher,. the danger of .^ supervening .feverisl^ 
coni^tioiij, apd, J the^ suspicion that, somethipig in the 
late cata^j^rgpl^. 39^s haying an effect wl^ioh, migj^t 
betray, itself iji,exQitedwprd^, actpdji^fa foreboding 
\y^1jhin^ hup* . IJ© nie.i>tijon€id tq: l^^r Mtendai^t that 
he should , li^ep himself/ r^ady to be ; cajle4 ; if there 
were any alarming chaiige of, symptoms, making it 
ui^derstood by.all' conq^med that he ;^^p in oom- 
^uiwc^tion with her friend^ ; in Engl^nd^ and felt 
,boun,d, meanwhile to tak^ ail ciire on.hei: behalf—3. 
positioi;! which ijt was tjip ee^si^r for hi?a.jlp,'assi;mei 



436 DANIEL ;nERONDA. 

because he was well known to Grandcourt^s valet, the 
only old servant who had come on the late voyage* 

But when fatigue from the strangely various emo- 
tion of the day at last sent Deronda to sleep, he re- 
mained undisturbed except by the morning dreams 
which came as a tangled web of yesterday's events, 
and finally waked him with an image drawn by his 
pressing anxiety^, . ',r.[ [ ' ; i ]]') 

Still, it was morning, and there had been no sum- 
mons — an augury ^bich cheere(i,hirtA.wiiile he made 
his toilet, and reflected that it was tbd^early to send 
inquiries. Later, lie l^arn^d tjxat jfth©/nad passed a 
too wakeful might, but had shown no violent signs 
of agitation, and was at last sleeping. He wondered 
sit IM fotb6 that dW^t'in'this*iirealAr4',' so'alfvr^' to 
di-eetd; for he'li^d ^Aii irresistSfcle iriij)ridfesi6h ifidi 
feVeii Wdker ;iihe' We^ts bf a' Seyei^e^'iiliysical sKoclc 
eh^ was tnast(iriiig*herfelf' wfth a'dfeteriilination cil 
cotacealment." 'For •fits'ciwn pkrt, fi^ thmight tha^ 
his' ^eh^ibiiitieis liad been'bltint^d''bj^'wllkt'*hfe had 
ty^eii • goiii^ 'thrbu'^li in the meeti%^ with 'his •irib^her 'r 
life seemed' id hinirfaf noW to be' inly tuffiUing^blaim's, 
arid his'-^tnorb ^^siOTlite sytnpathy '\lras ih abeyaliice.' 
He had kt?ely bebii' liVing s6 keeii!<^ iifif 'aitf'ii^'iriehdd 
qtiiie ajpaft'from' Gwendolen's lot; UWit fc6''pi^fes4ht 
tates'foi^' hfer wei*e like a 'revisiting' W scJeid'es faiiQ- 
iar in'thi^ 'pa^t; ^lUVthe^e' wafe^'nbt yet''a'c8friplete 

iSevival'6f the in^^ard rbtepbn^b f^ tW^m. '•'■ '• '^ 

• ' Meanwhile he erhploycid himself in "^et'tilig' a' for- 
iiial, legally-fbcoghi^ed ^^&Jteiient'iFr6iti l^i^^'fish^Wn^n 
who hdd'r^giJued G^6ii561en. FeW'dWail'^'^jafeib' to 
light ''Ttie'bokt'ihH^hich dfandcotirt h^'^orie Out 



BOOK VII. TH« MOfHBRj.AKTD THE SON. 4^7 

hJadi beeiv / foBnd ' diiSiing with 'its > tml loofie^ and iiiid 
been toweid • tiz». i. , The fishermen ' thought : it likely 
that he- had. bben knoekfed oirQrbba»i> by/ 1he> flapping' 
o£'t2ie sail while plutiiirig! aboiit; and (that 'he)>faad'ii6t' 
known how to (swim i but,, though *hey* we¥e* near,> 
their iaiter^iiott haid beeil»i|-^'aTreHi^by'a idry* wMJoh 
seemed like thiKt 4!>f w man in- ^dilstveesv anid wHile > tfeey : 
weneh ImEiteinkkg wi<ih their oanBi^ they, iheard a sliriek 3 
from the lady, and saw her jump. inJ ' I) J ., «' fM,;! j' 
Onr re^eiitdriiig»tha: hotely Deroiida : was tddVtJiat 
Gwendolen had liiseB, atid i was i deeiring tb / :fiee ihiihs/ 
He was i^wa into a iroom'^aifeenedl'^lyjr blinds : and 
Ourtahis, 'Wheire she Was : seated ! ;wif h ; :a '• Whffcw ishairl: 
wrapi^bdi round her^' lboki&gi!toFwardfi->thie< openiai^ 
door hke one waiting uneasily. But^hdp- kxDg hadr 
was gathered up and coiled carefully, and, through 
all,\he blu0) «taifi i)n her- ear» had^kept their; place : 
as she started impulsively ibo her fiill height^ sheathed 
in her^hit^ shawi, heir >&de: and ^neok ikot/less white, 
eicefit for a''pUrple Hi^ unHej*-. liei--^ eyes, her -Kps a 
lil^tteid/patt With the peeultir lexplressioii bf ioo^ aii^ 
Oused^aiid helpless, ibhe'ilooked like 'the' diaUappy. 
ghost of ^tuit- GHwendrfen 'Harleith :whom iBeronda; 
haid seen! iAitning with: -firtn dips: amid . proud . ae(l£-pos*: 
scjdsl6n' ff-om he^r leases 'at? iftie gamixig4able. 9/hie' 
flight, pierced Aim \^ith'pityy'an'd'the.'effeoti3;of>all 
their p^sli re'kktionb^go.n to revive within* l^im-.' 

' ^* 1 beseeoh y6ti to ' res1>>-iioil to stand," said 'Der4 
dtidiEi,'»s'he'appr(>ached'-her)'pind ahe obeij^ed!^ MUng 
back ^titb her chair again. ' , • . : 

. ii'Mwriii: y6i sit i down- neair b©?^" ishle^fshidii .f<I 
wiht >t6ii speak ' veiy ioW-.' • • :.-".: .:.• f-i 



438 DAWIEL DERONDA, 



was in a large cb-m-dziair^ and lie drew a ^adl 
one near to her side. The action seemed *o touch 
her- peculiarly: taming- her' pbifttfkce fiill-upon hid, 
which was very near^ she; said, inj*he Ibwest andibliB 
tone J. " You know I am a guilty woman? '! 

: Beronda hinksielf turned paler as he said^.^^Ikrioiiir. 
.nothing*'* He did »not dare to. say mttre.' < jf » 
,^ . '^'He >is< dead.'^ SheLUittex^d iM» yri&k -thoi'same 
"undertoned decision. . , , , i • 

"Yes/' said Deronda,' in aftoq^riifiil suspeftise 
which made him reluctant to . speak J . • 
> " His fece Will not be seen above < the iwatto again/' 
daid Gwendolen, in a tone that waia not loudex, but 
of a suppressed eagerness,^ whil^ she held boihi.her 
hands elehohed. ; 

"No.".. . ■ •■ ..:•> . . f' •.•:•;'•. . . - 

"Not l^y any on6 else— only by me-r-a dead, &oe 
— I shall never get away . froDEi it" '. . 

It was with an i hnward Toioe , of i rdespem^ , n^Vh 
repreiasion' that she spoke tbeide la9t.word$, -^hile 
she looked away from X^econda >tbwa.rds aoxauethin^ 
at .a distance from her on the. floor. Was ihe s^ing 
the whole event-r^her . dwn ikat» ii^cludedr-^hrough 
an ^iagg^rating maediuin of , e^^oitementt '9ad horror? 
\^Bfe sh^ in ^. state ci6 delinum ' ii»td whieh there 
ent^ed 'a sense df oonc^bnent watd neoesMty for 
self-repiression? Sucli.tlioughts gljailfcoedt itl^*ough 
Deroi]ida as a sort of hope.. But .in^agine the icon- 
flict of feeling that kept hilm silent- |t She wa9 b^t 
on confession, and lie dreaded hearitigi her confeBsion. 
Against his better: will, ihe. shrank. b0m i^he task that 
was laid on him : he wished^ and yet rebuked the 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 43'9 

-msh as C5^x\%rdlyj that she could bury lier secrets 
in her owii' bosoiii!; H'd wad not a pirie«t. He 
dreaded the Wdght ef tliis woman's soul flung upcHi 
hi^ own with implcoring dependence;' • But- she spoke 
again, hurriedlj, looking ai him- — 

•" You will not say that 1 ought to teU' the world ? 
yoni will ri6t" say that I oiugto to be dtsigraeed? I 
could not dd it. I could not beaT it I oabnot have 
my mother^ know. ' Not-if'I'Wete dead. loouldnat. 
have h^ kiiow. ' I inubt tdH you ; trat you will not 
tsajr that any One else should 'krtow/' ' 

^'I caii say nothing int *iyignoi»ance," said Het- 
•dnda, taournfdlly, "exto^pt Idiat T desire to help 
you."-- _.••.■...* 

"I told ^ou fir«n the beginning — as soon fia I 
could— I told ydu I Was afraid of myself." 'There 
Was a piteous pleadin!^ in the. low tnunitiiiif to which 
i)iBrt>nda tiirtied liis eat* only. Her face afflicted him 
too much. '^ I felt a liati-ed in me that was always 
working like an evil spirit -^ cowtriving tilings. 
Ever3^hing I could do tb free myself^ came into 
my mind ; and it got worse — all things got worse, 
'that wais why I asked you to oomie to^ me in town. 
I thought then I would tell you the worst about 
myselt I tried. 'Btt 1 eould nottdl everything. 
'And Ale came iti." ' - : i • 

' She parsed, wbilie a shudder 'passed tlniough her; 
but soon w^nt oh. ' • ' 

^' I will tdi' you 'everything now- Do you think 
a woman Who cried, and prayed, and struggled to 
be saved 'fix)m herself, could be. a mtirderess? " 

"Great God I ^^ said Dei^onda, in a deep, shaken 



r 

voioe, " don'^ . idclrtiuic© ijae i^Qi[}i^Bly;[, Xpu hav^ i^t 

murderedi^im, You., ifejirew; yowseif injp , .the . ,w al^jr 

iwith .thehiitipuls^.;tp.i«a,ve: h^injfc^ .TplJ^m^ tJia.riBgJ; 

afterwards, ■ ' TUie . dK^atb waft . ^^ , i^pid/^^ t^at , ypti 

could not have hindjefc^Ai" i,: :.w.( ,:!,;.. 

: f,:"Don-t bfe impatierMi with mei-" .The'^Tepipr, the 

iciiildlike beiseeoliiiog ill theqe wpyds,-Qoi«p.piette4 Rer- 

onda ito tunl hift head and ^aok lat ^jje?;if%p% ;. Xt^ 

.■poot q'Ur>r^rin^,;lit)s,w,QAtj od..; , " Yo>j ^aidrrrfpiau.TifsiBfl 

tci sfaiyrT-'yO'U 'felt :moi?e |fo^ tljpp^. ifho^t^ do^^ spmi^- 

thing wicked ati.4/ w^^ '• wi^i^abl/B 4 1 1 y Q^ , sai^ » ^©y 

might get' bettefl-Tithey ijaiigiht .t>^, ficojarg^ .^nl^o pome- 

thitig bettert If ypt ha^rnatspQkefli,ri» )tl^atj?ff?ttr? 

everjrfching would have been worse. I did remeipj)©r 

all ;you said /to m^: , It oAm^' fo^ a?j^, al*>'.^y$, , It .came 

•toi.niie at the.iv^ry -lasithT-tbait jwas.v^te' rea|sor( wtly 

■I ' "■// > . Buti nowi, if ! ypt^ P$'njO<)jb , Jbeiar jyith, pie. when 

il teU.yoTt.-eveflfB^hli^g-riffyQU'vt^m -g^way jtvom ipae 

;and forsake .me, what : shaU . Jj ^V l\^V^' I WPV^P ^*P 

.1 was wheiii you > found; lD,ei a^id<,wfti;^ted to D^^tjb^ i^e 

« better.?..' J All i)m .wmi/g Jt haveidftn^ \faS;jfl,!][ie tV^in 

.'Ti.t^Dd morer— and Itupre^-i — ;T:if you JiarfLpotf^pie aud 

.been piatient.with.ine*: rAiPdinp5yrT-jwiU/y<^U//orfii*ipe 

Tttefi'' ■•• •.- •)..:■-. f .: f f •-.// T .' '.!, .1::. ',../. I 

.■ iBepjhand* wfei^lii-lwid bewfso .fcightlij^ ci^ooh^ 

some minutes before, were now helplqs^Jy ^Ijapf^d 

.and tl^mblin^ on^.t^eiafclQ,^. beslftb^ir^. jj^y q^i^^er- 

ing lips remained parted as she.ipe^f^/ [peaking. 

>Deirf(]>nda could opt anaW0f ^[b^»wasr oJ?lig^^ tq k)ok 

.awlay* iH© bpok.ume .^ff herj)i^pdQ,.l^nd cji^tf^ed 

it as'tf 4/hey wer©; gdiilg. to \vf4Jq4()gptl|pii.likp tysp 

ehildten.^ it waal thi^ onlyi \fj$y in ; ts,Wfjlit,Ji^; ic5ould 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHKB AND 1 thfS^- 441 

answer, "I will not* forsake jyou." And all the 
while he felt as if he were putting his name to a 
blank paper which might be filled up terribly. Their 
attitude, hi^ averted feoe with its expression of a 
suffering which he was solemnly resolved to undergo, 
might have told half the truth of the situation to a 
beholder who had suddenly enteiJed. 

Thftt grasp was an entirely hew experience to 
Gwendolen: she had never before had from any 
man a sign of tenderness i which her own being iiad 
needed, and she interpreted its powerful effeict on 
her into a promise of inexhaustible patience and 
constluiqy. The stream of renewed strength made 
it possible for her to go on ai9 she had begun — with 
tjiat fitful, wandering confession whiere the sameness 
of experience seemft to nullify the sense of time or 
of order in events. She began again in a fmgrnen- 
tary way — 

'*AH sorts of . ccmtrivaneeis ' in my mind — but all 
so diflScult, And I fought against them— I was 
terrified at them — ^I saw his ' dead face "^— h^e her 
voice sdUk almost to a whisper close to Deronda^S 
ear — " ever so long ago I saw it ; and I wished him 
to be dead. And yet it terrified) me. I was like two 
creatures. I could not speak— I wanted to kill — it 
was as stiotig as thirstr— and then directly — I felt 
beforehand I had done something dreadful, unalter- 
g|,ble — 'tihat would make ine like an evil spirit; And 
it cskwe — it came." 

She was silent a moment or two, as if her memory 
had lost itself in aiweb where «aoh mesh drew all' 
the rest* 

VOL. II. P 



i 

442 v^\. : ."Daniel DERONDA. 
\' 
" It l;ia<J all been in my mind when I first spoke 
to you — when we were at the Abbey, I had done 
something then. <. I could not tell you that. It was 
the only thing I did. towards carrying out my 
thoughts. They went about over everything; but 
they all remained like dreadfiil dr^ms-'— all but one. 
I did one act — andi I never undid it-^it is there still 
TT-as long ago as when we were at Ryelands. There 
it was^ — sonlething my fingers longed for among the 
beaJutiful toys in the cabinet in my boudoir — small 
and sharp, like a long- willow leaf in a silvet sheath. 
I locked it 'in the drawer* of my dressing-case. ■ t 
was continually haunted with it, feind how I should 
use it. . I fancied myself putting it uiider my pillow. 
But I never did. I- never looked at it again. I 
dared not unlock the drawer: it had a key all to 
itself; and. not long ago, when we were in the yacht, 
I dropped the key into the deep water. It ^as my 
tvish to drop it and deliver myself. Afker that I 
began to think how I could open the drawer wi-fchoUt 
thel key : and when I found we were to stay at 
Gehoaj it oameanto my mind -that I could get it 
Oipeh^d.-prirately at the hotel. But then; when we 
were going up the stairs, I met you ; and I thought 
IishouM.talk to you aldne and tell you this* — every- 
thing I could iiot tell you in town ; and' then I was 
forced to gd out in tbeiboat^" 

' A sob had for the first time risen with the last 
words, and she sank back in her chain The mem- 
ory, of . that acute disappbintment seemed for the 
ihoment to efface what had oome since. Dei^nda 
did not look at her, but he said, insistently — 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHEB AND THE SON. 443 

" And it has all remained in your imagination. 
It has gone on only in yonr thought. Toi the last 
the eviL temptation has been resisted?'^ : : = 

There was silence. The tears had Tolled' down 
her cheeks. She pressed heir handkerchief ^.gainst 
them and sat: upright. She was sumtnoning . he(r 
resolution ; and. again, leaning a little towards Der* 
onda's ear, she began in a whisper— ^ ■ • ' 

. " No, no ; I will tfell you evetjNihiiB^ las > Gk>d 
knows it. I will tell you no falsehood; ■ I iwill 
teU you: the exact truth. What should I ido elfee? 
I used to think I could never be wicked. I thought 
of wicked people as if they were la long wdyoff 
me. Since then I have been wicked. I have felt 
wicked. And everything has been a punishment 
to me — *IL the things. I used to wish for-+-it!ia as 
if they had been made i«d-hot. The' vepry- day- 
light has often been a- punishment to me. BecJause 
' — you know*— ^I ought not to have married. iThat 
was the beginning, cf. it. I wronged somer one 
else. I broke my promise. I meant to get plea- 
sure for . myself,* and it all turned to misery. .- I 
wanted to make my gain out of another's loas^-^ 
you remember?--^ it was like roulette -rand the 
money burnt into me. And I could not .oomplain. 
It was as if I had prayed that another should IcJpe 
and I should win. Ahd I had won..i I knew, it 
oU — I knew I was guilty.; When we w6re on the 
sea, aindl lay awake at night in the cibin, I some- 
time^ felt that everything I had done Jay opejn 
without excuse- — nothing was hidden — how: could 
anything be known to me only? — it' was no%i my 



444 DANIEL DERONDA. 

own knowledge, it was Grod^s that had entered into 
me, and even the ' stillness — everything held a 
punishment for me — everjthing but yon. I always 
thought that you wpuld not want me to be punished 
— ^you would have tried and helped me to be better. 
Aufd only thinking of that helped me., You will 
not change' — you will not want to punish me now ? " 

Again a sob had risen. 

" Grod forbid ! " groaned Derohda. But he S3rt 
motionless. 

This long wandering with the poor conscience- 
fetricken one over her past was difficult to bear, 
but he dared not again urge her with a question. 
He must let her mind follow its own need. She 
unconsciously left intervals in her retrospect, not 
clearly distinguishing between what she said and 
what she had only an inward vision of. Her next 
words came after such an interval. 

" That all made it so hetfd when I was forced to 
go in the boat. Because wh«n I saw yon it was 
an TUnlBxpeoted joy, and- 1 thought I could tell you 
everything — -about the looked-up (Jrawer and what 
I had not told you before. And if I had told you, 
and knew it was in your mind, it would have less 
•power over me. I hoped and trusted in that. For 
after all my struggles and my crying, the hatred 
and rage, the temptation that frightened me, the 
longing, the thirst for what I dreaded, always came 
back. And that disappointment -^ whfen I was 
quite shut out from speaking to you, and I was 
driven to go in the boat — brought all the evil back, 
as- if I had been locked in a priwon with it and no 



BOOK VII.— tHE MOTHEK AND THE SON. 445' 

escape. Oh, it seems so long ago xiow since I 
stepped into that boat I I conld have given up 
ever3rthing in that moment, to have the forked 
lightning for a weapon to strike him dead." 

Some of the oompressed fierceness that she "v^as 
recalling seemed to find its way into her nndertoned 
utterance. After a little silence she said, with 
agitated hurry — 

'* If he were here again, what should' I do ? I 
cannot wish him here — and yet I cannot' beai- 
his dead face.' I was a coward. I ought id have 
borne contempt. ' I ought to have gone a-ifray — 
gone and wandered like a beggar rather than stay 
to feel like a fiend. But turn where I would there 
was something I could not bear. Sometimes I 
thought he would kill mt if I resisted his will. 
But now--*>hift dead ^e is there, and I cannot 
bear it." • 

Suddenly loosing Deronda's hand, she started up, 
stretching her arms to their fall length upward, 
and said with a sort of moan — 

" I have been a cruel woman I What can / do 
but cry for help? / am sinking; Die — die — you 
are forsaken — go down, go down into 'darkness. 
Forsaken — xufy pity — / shall be forsaken." 

She sank in her chair again and broke into sobs. 
Even Deronda had no place in her consciousness 
at that moment. He was completely unmanned. 
Instead of finding, as he had imagined, that bis 
late experience had dulled his susceptibility to 
fresh emotion, it Seemed that the lot of this young 
creature, whose swift travel from her bright rash 



446 DANIEL DERONDA. 

girlhood into this agony of remorse he had had to 
behold in helplessness, pierced him the deeper, be- 
cause it came close upon another sad revelation of 
spiritual conflict : he was in one of those moments 
when the very anguish of pasfiionate pity makes us 
ready to choose that we willlknbw pleasure no more, 
and live only for the stricken and afflicted. He 
had risen from his seat while he watched that ter- 
rible outburst — which seemed the more awful to 
him because, even in this supreme agitation, she 
kept the suppressed voice of one who confesses in 
secret. At last he felt impelled to turn his back 
towards her and walk to a distance. . 

But presently there was stillness. Her mind had 
opened to the sense that he had gone away from 
her. When- Deronda turned round' to approach her 
^gain, he saw her face bent towards: him, her eyes 
dilated, her lips T)arted. She was an image of timid 
forlorn beseeching-— too timid to entxeat in words 
while he kept himself aloof from her. Was she 
forsaken by him — now — already?- But his eyes 
met hers sorrowfully — met hers for the first time 
fully since she had said, ** You know I am a guilty 
w(Hnan.;" and that full glance in its inteiise moum- 
fulness seemed to say, " I know it, but I shall all 
the less forsake you." He sat down by her side 
again in the same attitude — without turning his 
face, towards her and without again taking her 
h^nd. 

Once more Gwendolen was pierced, as she had 
been by his face of sorrow at the Abbey, with a 
compunction less egoistio than that which urged 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 447 

her to confess^ and she said, in a tone of loviiig 
regreit*— 

" I make yon very unhappy." 

Deronda gave an indistinct " Oh," just shrinking 
together and chan^ging his attitude a little* Then 
he had gathered resolution enough to say clearly, 
" There is no question of being happy or unhapjiy. 
What I most desire at this moment is what will 
most help you. Tell me aU you feel it a relief to 
telL" 

Devoted as these words were, they widened his 
spiritual distance from her, and she felt it more* 
diflSoult to speak : she had a vague need of ge1:ting 
nearer to that compassion which seemed to be re- 
garding her from a halo of superiority, and the nefed 
turned into an impulse to humble herself m^e*' 
She was ready "to =throw herself on her knees before 
him; but no — her wonderftitly- mixed conscious- 
ness held checks on that impulse, and she was- 
kept silent and motionless by the pressure of op- 
posing needs. Heif stillness made Deronda at last 
say— 

"Perhaps you are too weary. Shall I go away, 
and come again whenever you wish it?" •' ' 

"No, no," said Gwendolen — the dread of his 
leaving her bringing back her power of speech. 
She went on with her low-toned eagerness, " I want 
to tell you what it was that came over me in that 
boat. I was full of rage at being obliged to go^— 
full of rage — ^and I could do nothing biit sit there 
like a galley-slave. And then we got away- — out 
of the port — into the deep — and everything' was 



446 DANIEI. DERONDA. 

»till--— aad we neyeri bdked at each othear, only ho 
spoke to order me — and the very light abomt me 
seemed to hold me a' prisoner and force me to sit 
as I did» It came over me that when I was a child 
I used to fancy sailing away into a worid where 
people were not forced to live with any one they 
did not like — I did not like my father-in-law to 
C5ome home. And now, I thought, just the opposite 
had come to me. I had stept into a boat, and my 
life was a sailing and sailing away — gliding*. on, 
and no help — always into solitude with Aim, away 
from deliverance. And because I felt more helpless 
than ever, my thoughts went out over worse things 
— I lotiged for worse things — I had cruel wishes-r- 

I fancied impossible ways of I did not want 

tp die myself; I was afraid of our heii^g frowned 
together. If it had been any use I . should have 
prayed — I should have prayed that soni^tl^ing 
might befall him. I should have p-ayed tbiat he 
might sink out of my sight, and leave v^e alone. 
I knew no way. of killing him there, but I did, I 
did kill him in my thoughts." 

She sank into silence for a minute, submerged 
by the weight of memory wtich no words could 
represent 

^^ But yet aU the while I felt ,that I was getting 
mgre wicked. And what had been with me so 
much, came to me just then — ^^wbat you once said 
— about dreading to' increase my wrong -doing and 
my remorse— I should, hope for nothing then. It 
wfts. all like a writing of fire within me. Getting 
Tyioked was misery — beipg shut out for ever from 



BOOK VII. THti MOTHEK AND THE SON. 449 

knowing what you — what better lives were. That 
had always been coming ba6k to me in the tnidst of 
bad thoughts — it came back to me then — but yet 
with a despair — a feeling that it was no use — evil 
wishes were too strong. I l^member then letting 
go the tiller and saying ^ God help me I ' But then I 
was forced to take it eigain and go on ; and the evil 
longings, the evil prayers cam6 again and blotted 
ever3rthing else dim, till, in the midst of them — 
I don't know how it was — ^he was turning the sail — 
there was a gust — he was struck — I know nothing 
—I only know that I saw my wish outside me." 

She began to speak more hurriedly, and in more 
of a whisper. * 

" I saw him sink, and my heart gave a le&.p as if 
it were going out of me. I think I did not move. 
I kept my hands tight. It was long enough for me 
to be glad, and yet to think it was no use — he 
would come up again. And he was come — farther 
off — the boat had moved. It was all like lightning. 
'Tlie rope!* he called out in a voices— not his own 
— I hear it now — and I stooped for the rope— ^ I 
felt I must — I felt sure he <jould swim, and he 
would come back whether or not, and I dreaded 
him. That was in niy mind — ^he would come back 
But he was gone down again, and I had the rope in 
my hand — no, there he was again -^ — his face abo^e 
the water — and he' cried again — and I held my 
hand, and my heart said^ 'Die!' — and he sank; 
and I felt * It is done—I am wicked, I ain lotet!' — 
and I had the rope in riiy hahd-^I don'ii "know what 
I thought — I was leaping away from myself — I 



:4:50 PAKIEL 0EJRONDA- 

w.otild have saved him then, I was leaping from 
my crime, and there it was — close, to me as I fell — 
th^re was the dead face — dead, dead. It oa^ nqver 
be altered. That was what . laappeneA That was 
what I did. You know it alL It can never be 
altered.'* 

She sank back in her chair, exhausted with the 
agitation of memory find speech. Deronda felt the 
burden on his spirit less heavy than the foregoing 
dread. The word " guilty " had held a possibility 
of interpretations worse thaa the fact; and Gwen- 
dolen's Qonfession, for the very. reason that her con- 
science made her dwell on the determining power 
of her evil thoughts,, convinced him the more that 
there had been throughout a counterbalancing 
struggle of her better will. It. seemed almost cer- 
tain that her murderous thought had had no out- 
ward effect — that, . quite apart from it, the death 
was inevitable. Still, a question as to the outward 
effectiveness of a criminal desire dominant enough 
to impel even a momentary act, cannot alter our 
judgment of the desire ; and Deronda shrank from 
putting that question forward in the first instance, 
lie held it likely that Gwendolen's remorse aggra- 
vated her inward guilt, and that she gave the 
character, of decisive action to what had been an 
ij»appreciably instantaneous glance of desire. But 
her remorse was the precious sign of a recoverable 
nature; it was the culmination of that self- disap- 
proval which had been the awakening of a new life 
within her; it marked her off from the crimipalB 
whose only regret is failure in securing their evil 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 451 

■wish. Deronda could not utter one word to di- 
minish that sacred aversion to her worst self — that 
thorn-pressure which must come with the crowning 
of the sorrowful Better, suffering because of the 
Worse. All this mingled thought and feeling kept 
him silent; speech was too momentous to be ven- 
tured on rashly. There were no words of comfort 
that did not carry som^ sacrilege. If he had 
opened his lips to speak, he could only have echoed, 
"It can never be altered — it remains unaltered, to 
alter other things.'* But he was silent and motion- 
less — he did not know how long — before he turned 
to look at her, and saw her sunk back with closed 
eyes, like a lost, weary,' storm-beaten white doe, 
unable to rise and pursue its unguided way. He 
rose and stood before her. The movement touched 
her consciousness, and she opened her ^yes "with a 
slight qfuivering that seemed like fear. 

" You must rest now. Try io rest : try to sleep. 
And may I see you again tliis evening— to-morrow 
— when you have had some rest? Let us say no 
more now." 

The tears came, and she could not answer except 
by a slight movement of the head. Deronda rsing 
for attendance, spoke urgently of the necessity that 
she should be got to rest; and then left her. 



452 



CHAPTER LVII. 



" The unripe grape, the ripe, and the dried. All things are changes, 
not into nothing, but mto tbat 'which is not at present." — MAHcui 

AURSUUS. 

Deeds are the pulse of Time, his beating life. 
And righteous or unrighteous, being done, 
Must throb in after-thi:obs till Time itself . 
Be laid in stillness, and the universe 
Quiver and breathe up<m nQ minfor more. - 



In the evejiing she sent for him again. It was 
already near the hour at which she had been 
brought in from the sea the evening before/ and 
the light was subdued enough with blinds drawn 
up and windows open. She was seated gazing 
fixedly on the sea, resting her cheek on her hand, 
looMng less shattered thati when he had left her, 
but with a deep melancholy in her expression which 
as Deronda approached her passed into an anxious 
timidity. She did not put out her hand, but said, 
" How long . ago it is ! " Then, " Will you sit near 
me again a little while ? " 

He placed himself by her side as he had done 
before, and seeing that she turned to him with 
that indefinable expression which implies a wish 
to say something, he waited for her to speak. But 



BOOK VII. THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 458 

again she looked towards the window silently, and 
again turned with the same expression, whioh yet 
did not issue in speech. There was some fear 
hindering her, «nd Deronda, wishing to relieve 
her timidity, averted his face. Presently he heard 
her cry imploringly— 

" You will not say that any one else should know?'^ 

" Most decidedly not," said Deronda. " There is 
no action that ought to be taken in consequence. 
There is no. injury that could be righted in that 
way. There is no retribution that any mortal could 
apportion justly." 

She was so istill during a pause, that she seemed 
to be holding her breath before she said-^ 

" But if I had not had that murderous will—rthat 
moment — if I had thrown the rope on the instant— 
perhaps it would have hindered death ? " 

"No — I think not," said Deroruia, slowly. "If 
it wei?e true that he could swim^ he must have been 
seized with cramp. With your- quickest, utmost 
effort, it seems impossible that you cJould have done 
anything to save him. That momentary murder- 
oua will cannot, I think, have altered the. course of 
events. Its effect is confined to the motives in 
your own breast. Within ourselves our evil, will 
is m6mentous, and sooner or later it work^ its way 
outside us — it may be in the vitiation that, breeds 
evil acts, but also it may be in the self-abhorrence 
that stings us into better striving." 

"I am saved from robbing others — there are 
others — they will have everything — they will have 
what they ought to have. I knew that some time 



454 DANIEL DERONDA, 

before I left town. You do not suspect me of 
wrong desires about those things?" She spoke 
heiBlitatingly* 

" I had not thought of them,!' said Deronda ; " I 
was thinking too much of the other things." 

" Perhaps you don't quite know the beginning of 
it all," said Gwendolen, slowly, as if she were over- 
coming her reluctance. " There was some one else 
he ought^ to have married. And I knew it, and- I 
told her I would not hinder it. And I went away — 
that was when you first saw me. But then we be- 
came poor all at once, and I was very miserable, and 
I was tempted. I thought, * I shall do as I like and 
make everything right.? I persuaded mysel£ And 
it was iall different. It was all dreadftiL Then came 
hatred and wicked thoughts. That was how it all 
came. I told you I was afraid of myselfl And I 
did what you told me — I did try to make "my fear a 

safeguard. I thought of what would be if I 

I feflt what would come — how I should dread the 
morning — wishing it would be always night — and 
yet in the darkness always seeing something — see- 
ing death. If you did not know how miserable I 

was, you might but now it has all been no use. 

I can care for nothing but saving the rest from know- 
ings—poor mamma, who has never' beenr happy.'* 

There was silence agiiin before she said with a 
repressed sob — "You cannot bear to look at me 
any more. You think I am too wicked. You do 
not believe that I can become any better — worth 
anything — worthy enough — I shall always be too 
wicked to " The Voice broke off helpless. 



BOOK VII. — ^^THE MOTHUl' AND THE SON. 455 

^Deroiida's'heart was pierced. He turned his eyes 
on her pocr beseeching face and said, "I believe that 
you may become worthier than yooi have ever yet 
been — worthy to lead a life that may be a blessing. 
No evil dooms us hopelessly except the ; evil ' we 
love, and desire to continued in, and make no efifort 
to escape from. You have made efforts-^-yoii will 
^o on making them." 

" But you were the beginning of them. - You must 
not forsake me," said Gwendolen, leaning with her 
clasped hands on the arm of her chair dnd looking 
at him, while her feioe bore piteous tiucesof th<i life- 
experience concentrated- in the twenty-four hours — 
that new terrible life lying on the Other side 6f the 
deed which fulfils a criminal desire.' "I will btear 
any penance.' I will ledd aaiy life you tell me. But 
you must not forsake me. You mu»fc be near* If 
you had been near me — if I could have said every^ 
thing to you, I should have been different. You will 
not forsake me ? " i . • ; 

"It could n^ver be In y impulse to forsake you,"- 
said Deronda promptly, with that voice 'which, like 
his eyes, had the unintentional effect of making his 
ready sympathy seem more personal aiid ^special 'than 
it really was. And in that moment he was not him- 
self quite free from a foreboding of sonve such sfelf- 
committing effect. His strong feeling for this stricken 
creature could not hinder rushing images of future 
difficulty. He continued to meet her appealing eyes 
as he spoke; but it was witb the painfiil conscious^ 
ness that to her ear his words might carry ai ' prom- 
ise which one day would seem unftdfilled : he was 



.45.6 . ' DANIEL DERONDA.. 

making an indefinite ipromise to an indefinite h6pe. 
Anicieties^ both immediate and distant, crowded on 
hig thought, and it was under their influence that, 
after a moment's silenoe, he said — 

" I expect Sir Hugo Mallinger to arrive by to-mor- 
row night at least ; and I am not without hope that 
Mrs Davilow may shortly follow hinu Her* presence 
will be the greatest comfort to you — it will give you 
a motive, to save her fromi unnecessary pain?'' 

" Yes, yes— I will try. And you will not go away?" 

" Not till after Sir Hugo has come." 

" But we shall aE go to England ? " 

" As soon as possiblie," said Deronda, not wishing 
to enter into particulars* 

Gwendolen looked towards the window again with 
an expression which seemed like a gradual awaken^- 
ing to new thoughts. The twilight was perceptibly 
deepening, but Deronda could see a movement in 
her eyes and hands such as accompanies a return of 
perception in one who has been stunned* 

"You will always be with Sir Hugo now?" she 
said .presently, looking at him. "You will always 
live at the Abbey — or. else at Diplow ? " 

"I am quite uncertain where I shall live," said 
Derdnda, colouring. 

She was warned by his changed colour that she 
had spoken too rashly, and fell silent. After a little 
while she began, again looking away — 

" It is impossible to think how my lif^ will go on. 
I think now it would be better for me to be poor and 
/obliged to work." 

"New promptings will come as the days pactt 



BOOK VII. — :THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 457 

■When jbu are among your friends again, you i will 
•discern new duties/' said Deronda. '^Maike it a task 
now to get as well and calm — as much like yourself 
as y6u can, before-- — — " He hesita-ted/ 

^^ Before my mother come®," ekld. Gwendolen. ^ * Ah ! 
I must be changed. I have not looked at • my selfi 
Should you have known me,'' she! added^ turning to- 
^wards hiim, **if you had met me* now i^-^-rshiindd you 
have known me for the one you saw at Leikterbnn ? " 

" Yes, I should have known you," said Deronda*, 
mournfully. " The outside change is not great. I 
should have seen at once that it was you, and that 
you had gone through some great sorrow." 

" Don't wish now that you had never seen me — 
don't wish that," said Gwendolen, imploringly, while 
the tears gathered. 

" I should despise myself for wishing it," said 
Deronda. " How could I know what I was wish- 
ing? We must find our duties in what comes to 
us, not in what we imagine might have been. If I 
took to foolish wishing of that sort, I should wish — 
not that I had never seen you, but that I had been 
able to save you from this." 

*^You have saved me from worse," said Gwen- 
dolen, in a sobbing voice. " I should have been 
worse if it had not been for you. If you had not 
been good, I should have been more wicked than 
I am." 

" It will be better for me to go now," said Der- 
onda, worn in spirit by the perpetual strain of this 
scene. "Eemember what we said of your task — to 
get well and calm before other friends come." 



458 . DANIEL DERONDA. 

He rose as he spoke, and she gave him her hand 
submissively. But when he had left hbr she sank on 
her knees, in hysterical crying. The distance be- 
tween them was too great. She was a banished soul 
—beholding a possible life which she had sinned her- 
self away from. ' 

She was found in this way, crushed on the floor. 
Such grief seemed natural in a poor lady .whose hus- 
band had been drowned in her presence. 



BOOK VIII. 
FEUIT AND SEED 



CHAPTEE LVIII. 



" Much adoe there was, God wot ; 
He wold love and she wold not." 

— NiCBOLAB Breton. 



Extension, we know, is a very imperfj^ct measure of 
things-; axid the length of the sun^s journeying can 
no more tell us how far life has advanced than the 
acreage of a field can tell us what growths may he 
active within it. A man may go south, and, stum- 
bling ovOT a, bone, may meditate upon it till be has 
found a new starting-point for anatomy ; or east- 
ward, and discover a new key to language telling a 
new story of races ; or he may head an expedition 
that opens new continental pathways, get liimself 
maimed in- body, and go through a whole heroic 
poem of resolve and endurance ; and at the end of 
a few months he may come back to find his neigh- 
bours grumbling at the same parish grievance as 
before, or to see the same elderly gentleman treadt 
ing the pavement in discourse with himself, shaking 
his bead after the same percussive butcher's boy, 
and pausing at the same shop-window to look at the 
same prints. If the swiftest thinking has about the 



462 DANIEL DERONDA. 

pace of a greyhound, the slowest must be supposed 
to move, like the limpet, by an apparent sticking, 
which after a good while is discerned to be a slight 
progression. Such differences are manifest in the 
variable intensity which we call human experience, 
from the revolutionary rush of change which makes 
a new inner and outer life, to that quiet recurrence 
of the familiar, which has no other epochs than 
those of hunger arid the heavens. 

Something of this contrast was seen in the year's 
experience which had turned the brilliant, self-con- 
fident Gwendolen Harleth of the Archery Meeting 
into the crushed penitent impelled to confess her 
un worthiness where it would have been her happi- 
ness to be held wofrthy ; while it had left her family 
in Pennicote without deeper change- than that of 
some outward habits, and some adjtistment of pros* 
pects and intentions to reduced income, fewer visits, 
and fainter compliments. The Rectory was as plea-j 
saut a home as b^forfe : the red and pink peonies on 
the lawn, the rows of hollyhocks by the hedges, had 
bloomed as well thife year as last-: th'e Rector main^ 
tained his cheerfal confidence in the goodwill of 
patrons and his resolution to deserve it Jby diligeiioe 
ill the fulfilment of lii« duties, whetheir pairons were 
likely to hear of it or not ; doing nothing solely with 
an eye to promotion except, perhaps, the writing of 
two ecclesiastical articles, which, having no signa^ 
ture, were attributed to some one' else, except by 
the patrons who had a special copy seiiiithem, and 
these certainly knew the author but did not read the 
articles. ' The Rector, however, chewed no podsonous 



BOOK VIII.-^FRUIT AND SEED. 463 

cud of Buspicion on this point : hi© ^ade . marginal 
notes on his own copies to render them a more 
interesting loan, and was gmtified that the Arch- 
deacon and other anthorities had nothing to say 
against the general tenor of his argument. • Peaoe&l 
authorship] — living in the air of the fields and 
downs, and' not in the thrice- breathed breath of 
criticism — bringing no Dantesque leanness ; rather, 
assisting nutrition by cotoplacenoyj and perhaps giv- 
ing a more.suflusive sense! of. achievement than the 
production of a whole Dhnvm CowMedia, . Then; there 
was the father's recovered delight in his favourite 
son, which, was. a. happiness outweighing the loss 
of eighteen hundk-ed a-year- Of whatever. nature 
might be tlie hidden ,ohange wrought in Bex by the 
disappointment of bis first love, it w?i« apparently 
quite secondary to that evidence • of more serious 
ambition which dated from the faipily misfortune; 
indeed, Mr Gascoigne was inclined to, regard the 
little affair which had caused him so much anxiety 
the year before as an evaporation, of superfluous 
moisture, a kind of finish to the baking process which 
the ihuman dough, demands. Rex had lately come 
down for a summer visit to the Rectpry, bringing 
Anna home, and while he sjhowed nearly the old 
liveliness wiiii his brothers and sisters, he continued 
in his holiday the, habits of tlie eager student, rising 
early in the morning and .^mtting himself up early 
in the evenings to carry on a fixed course of study, 

"You don't repent the choice of the law asa^.prp- 
fessioEn, Rex ? " said his father. . ! i 

" There is no profession J would .choose before it," 



464 DANIEL DERONDA. /• 

said Rex. " I should like to end my life as a first- 
rate judge, and help to draw up a code. I reverse 
the famous dictum — I should say, *Give me some- 
thing to do with making the laws, and let wfco will 
make the eongs.' " 

" You will have to stow in an immense ttmount 
of rubbish, I suppose — thaf s the worst of it," said 
the Rector. 

" I doti't see that law-rubbish is worse than any 
other sort. It is not so bad as the rubbishy litera- 
ture that people choke their minds with. It doesn't 
make one 60 dull. Our wittiest men have often been 
lawyers. Any orderly way of looking at things as 
cases and evidence seems to me better than a per- 
petual wash of odds and ends bearing on nothing 
in parti culai'. And then, from a higher point of 
view, the foundations And the growth of law make 
the most interesting aspects of philosophy and his- 
tory. Of course there will be a good deal that is 
troublesomcj drudging, perhaps exasperating. But 
the great prizes in life can't be won easily— I 
see that." 

" Well, my boy, the best augury of a man's 
success in his profession is that he thinks it the 
finest in the world. But I lancy it is so witb most 
work when a man goes into it with a will. Brewitt, 
the blacksmith, said to me the other day that his 
'prentice had no mind to his tirade ; * and yet, sir,' 
said Brewitt, * what would a young fellow have if 
he doesn't like the blacksmithing?'" 

The Rector cherished a fatherly delight, which he 
allowed to escape him only in moderation. Warham, 



BOOK YIII.— MtUIT AND SEED. 465 

who had gone to Indiia, he had easily born© parting 
with, but Rex was that romance of later life which 
a man sometimes' finds ia a son whom he recognises 
as superior to himself picturing a futiire eminence- 
for him, according to a variety of famous examples. 
It was only to his wife that he said with decision, 
"Rex will be a distinguished man, Nancy, I am 
sure of it — ^as sure ad Paley's father was about his 
son." 

" Was . Paley an old bachelor ? " said Mrs Gias* 
qptigne. 

" That is hardly to the point, «iy dear," said the. 
Rector, who did not remember that irrelevant detail. 
And Mrs Gascoigne felt that she had spoken rather 
weakly. 

This quiet trotting of time' at the Reotoiy was 
shared by the group who had exchanged the faded 
dignity of OffQ.ndene for the low white house not a 
mile off, well enclosed with evergreens, and known 
to the villatgers as " Jodson's." Mrs Davilow's deli- 
cate face showed Only a slight deepening of its mild 
melancholy, her hair only a few more silver lines, in 
consequence of the last year's trials ; the four girls 
had bloomed out a little from being less in the 
shade ; and the) good Jocosa preserved her service- 
able neutrality towards the pleasures and glories of 
the world as things made for those who were not 
"in. a situation." 

The low narrow drawing-room, enlarged by two 
quaint projecting windows, with lattices wide open 
on a July afternoon to the scent of monthly rdses, 
the faint murmurs of the garden, and the occasional 



46<6 DANIEL DERONDA. 

rare sound. of libo& and wheels seeilimg to clarify 
the fencoeeding silence, made rather a^ crowded lively 
sceue, Bex and Anna being added to the usual group 
of six. Anna, always a favourite with her younger 
cousins, had much to tell of her new experience, and 
the acquaintances' sh^ had made in London ; and 
when on her first visit she came alone, many ques- 
tions. w«re asked her about Gwendolen's house in 
Grosvenor Square, what Gwendolen herself had said, 
and what any one else had said about Gwendolen. 
Had Anna been to see Gwendolen after she hatd 
known, about the i yacht ^ No:- — an answer wTdich 
left speculation free concerning eVerythihg* con- 
nected with that interesting unknown vessel beyond 
the fact that Gwendolen had written just before she 
set out. to Bay that 'Mr Grandootirt and she wfere 
going yachting, in the Me(£teitan$an^ and again from 
Marseilles to say that she was sure to like the yaclit- 
ing, the cabins were very elegant, and she \<rould 
probably not send another letter till she had written 
quite a long diary filled with dittos. Al^o, this 
movement of Mr .and Mrs Grandcourt had been 
mentioned in " the newspaper ; " so that altogether 
tliis new phia.se of Gwendolen's exalted life mad^ a 
striking part 'of the sisters' romance, the book* de- 
vouring Isabel throwing in a corsair or two to make 
an adventure that might end well. 

But when Kex was present, the gitls, according 
to instrudtions, .never started this fesoiiiating topic ; 
and to-day there had only been animated descrip- 
tions of the Meyricks and their extraordinary Jewish 
friends, which caused some astonished questioning 



BOOK Vin. FRUIT AND SEED. 467 

from minds to whiok the idea of live Jews, out of 
a book, BTiggested a dififerenbe deep enough to be 
abuost zoologi(i)al, as of a strange race in Pliay's 
Natural History that might sleep undfer the shade of 
its own ears. Bertha could not imagine What Jews 
believed now ; and had a dim idefct that tliey rejected 
the Old Testament since it proved the NeW ; Miss 
Merry thought that Mirah and her bnother ctmld 
"never have been properly argued withj" and the 
amiable Alice did not mind what the Jews believed, 
she wae. sure she " couldn't bear them." Mrs Davi- 
low corrected her by saying that the g*eat Jewish 
families who were in society were quite what th«y 
ought to be both in London and Paris, but admitted 
that the commoner unconverted Jews were objec- 
tionable; and laab^l asked whether Mirah talked 
jiist as they did, ,or whether you might be with her 
and not find out. that she was a Jewess. 

Rex, who had no 'partisanship with the Israelites, 
having made a troublesome acquaintance with the 
minutise of their aacient history in the form of "-cram," 
was amusing himself hy playfully exaggerating the 
notion of ^ach speaker, while Anna b^ged theln all 
to understand that he was only joking, when the 
laughter was interrupted by the' bringing in of a 
letter for Mrs Davilow. A messenger had run with 
it. in great haste from the Rectory- • It enclosed a 
telegram, and as Mrs Davilow read and re-read it in 
silence and agitation, all eyes were turned on her 
with anxiety, bilt no one dared to speak. Looking 
up at last and sefeing the young faces " painted with 
fear," she remembered that they. might be imagin- 



468 DANIEL DERONDA. 

ing something worse than the tatuth, something like 
her own first dread which made her unable to tindert^ 
stand what was written, and she said, with a iaob 
which was half relief — 

" My dears, Mr Orandoonrt " Slie paused an 

instant, and then began again, " Mr Grandconrt is 
drowned." 

Rex started up as if a missile had been suddenly 
thrown into the room. He could not help himself, 
and Anna's first look was at him. But then, gather- 
ing some self-command while Mrs Davilowwas read- 
ing what the Rector had written on the enclosing 
paper, he said— 

" Can I do anything, aunt ? Can 1 carry any word 
to my father from you ? " 

" Yes, dear. Tell him I will be ready — he is very 
good. He says he will go with me to Genoa — he 
will be here at half-past six. Jocosa and Alice, help 
me to get ready. She is safe — Gwendolen is safe — 
but she must be ill. I am sure she must be very ill. 
Rex, dear — Rex and Anna — go and tell your father 
I win be quite ready. I would not for the world lose 
anotheir night. And bless him for being ready so 
soon. I can travel night and day till we get there." 

Rex and Anna hurried away through the sunshine 
which was suddenly solemn to them, wifliout utter- 
ing a word to each other ; she chiefly possessed by 
solicitude about any reopening of his wound, he 
struggling with a tumultuary crowd of thoughts 
that were an offence against his better will. The 
oppression being undiminished when they were at 
the Rectory gate, he said — 



BOOK VIII. FHUIT AJSD SEED. 469 

** Nannie, I will leaVe jovl to say everything to 
my father. If he wants me immediately, let me 
know. I shall stay in the shrabbery for ten minutes 
— only ten minutes." 

Who has been quite free from egoistic es^japes of 
the imagination piiotaring desirable consequences on 
his own ftiture in the presence of another's misfor- 
tune, sorrow^ or death ? The expeolied promotion or 
legacy is the common type of a temptation, which 
makes speech and even prayer a severe avoidance of 
the most ir^istent thoughts, and sometimes raises 
an inward shame, a self-distaste, that is worse than 
any other form of unpleasant companionship. In 
Bex's nature the shame was immediate, and over- 
spread like iein ugly light all the hurrying images of 
what might come, which thrust themselves in with 
the idea that Gwendolen was again free— overspread 
them, peiiiaps, the more persistently because every 
phantasm of a hope was quickly niilli(ied by a more 
substantial obstacle; Before the vision of "GweDh 
dolen free" rose the impassable vision of 'l^Gwen- 
dc^en rich, exalted, courted;" and; £f in the former 
time, when both their Hves were fresh, «he h€id 
turned from his love with repugnance, what ground 
was there for supposing that her heaJrt would be 
more open to him in the future? 

These thoughts, which he wanted to master and 
suspend, were like a tumultuary ringing of opposing 
chimes that he could not escape from by running. 
During the last year he had brought himself into a. 
state of calm resolve, and now it seemed that three 
words had been, enough to undo all that diflBciilt 



470 DANIEL DBRONDA. 

work, and oast him back into the wretched fluctu- 
ations of a longing which he recognised a» simply 
perturbing and hopeless. And at this moment the 
activity of such longing had an imtimeliness that 
made, it repulsive to his better self. Excuse poor 
Rex : it was not much more than , eighteen months 
since, he had been laid low by an archer who some* 
times touches his arrow with a subtle, Hngering 
poison. The disappointment of a youthful passion 
has effects as incalculable as those of smalUpox, 
which may make one person plain and a genius, 
another less plain and more foolish, another plain 
without detriment to his folly, and leave perhaps the 
majority without obvious change. Everything de- 
pends — not on the mere fact of disappointment, but 
—on the nature affected and the force that stirs it. 
In Rex's well-endowed nature, brief as the hope had 
beeny the passionate stirring had gone; deep, and the 
effect of disappointment was .revolutionary, though 
firaught with 6^ beneficent new order which retained 
most of the • old' virtues : in certain respects he be- 
lieved that it had finally deterniined the bias and 
colour of his life. Now, however, it seemed that his 
inward peace was hardly more stable than that of 
republican Florence, and his heart no better than 
the alarm-bell that made work slack and tumult 
busy. 

Rex'^ love had been of that sudden, penetrating, 
clinging sort which the ancients knew and sung, 
and in singing made a fashion of talk for many 
modems whose experience has been by no means 
of a fiery, dasmoiiio character To have the con- 



BOOK VIII. — FRUIT AND SEED. . 471 

Bciougn^ss suddenly steeped with another's person- 
ality^ to have. the strangest inclinations possesisod 
by au image which retains its dominance in spite of 
change and apart from worthiness — nay, to feela 
passion which clings the faster for the tragic pangs 
inflicted by a camel, recognised nnworthinesb — is a 
phase of love which in the feeble and colnmon-iiiiiided 
lias a repulsive likeness to a blind animalism inseiti- 
sible to the higher sway of moralaffinity or heaven- 
Ht admiration. Bot when this attaching force is 
present in a nature not of brutish unmodifidbleness, 
but of a human dignity that can risk itself safely, it 
may even result Mni a devotedness not unfit: to>'be 
called divine in a higher sense than the an<jietit. 
Phlegmatic rationality stares and shakes its head at 
these unaccountable prepoftseesion?, but > they exist 
as uiadeniably as the Winds and waves, determining 
here a wreck and there a triumphant voyage. 

This sort of passion had nested in- the sweet* 
natured, strong Rex, and he had ; madief up his mind 
to-- its coinpanibnship^ as if it had been an object 
supremely dear, stricken dumb and helpless, and; 
turning all the future of tenderness into a shadow 
of the past. But ^ he had also made up his ihind 
that his life wks not to be pauperised because be 
liad had to renounce one sort of joy ; rather, he had 
begun life again with a new counting^ up of th«. 
treasures that remained to him, and he had even 
felt a release of power such as may oome .firora, 
cieasing to be afraid of your own neck. 

And now, here he was pacing the shrubbery, 
angry with himself that the sense of irrevocablenGss 



472 DANIEL DERONPA. 

iu his lot, which oxight in reasoti to have been as 
strong as ever, had been ahaken by a change of 
circumstances that could make no change in relation 
to him. He told himself the truth quite roughly — 

" She would never love me ; and that is not the 
question -r-I could never . approach her ae a lover in 
her present position. I am exactly, of no conse- 
quence at all,, and am not likely to be of much 
consequence till my head is turning grey. Biit 
what has that to do with it ? She would not have 
me on any terms^ and I would not ask her.! It is a 
nieanness to be thinking abouit it now— ^tio better 
than lurkixig about the battle-field to strip the dead ; 
but there t^ever was more gratuitous sinning. I 
have nothing to gain there — absolutely nothing. 
. . . Then why can't I face the facts, and behavfe 
asi they demand, instead of leaving my father; to 
suppose. that tliere are matters he cian't speak to me 
about,. though I might be useful in them ? " 

That last thought made one wave, with the im- 
pulse that sent Rex walking firmly into the house 
and through the open door of the study, where he 
saw his father packing a travelling-desk; 

" Caxi I be of any use, sir ? " said. Rex, with 
raDied courage, as his father looked up at him. 

" Yes, my boy ; when I am gone, just seei to my 
letter*, and answer where necessary,, and send me 
word of everything, i Dymock will manage Uie 
parish very well, and you will stay with your 
mother, or, at least, go up and down again, till 
I come back, whenever that may be." 

"You will hardly be very long, sir, I suppoee," 



BOOK Vm. FKUIT ANd SEED. 473 

said Eex, beginning to strap a TailwftT tug. " You 
will perhaps bring my cousin back to England?" 
He forced himself to speak of Grwendolen for the 
first time, and the Eector noticed the epoch with 
satisfaction. 

" That depends," he answered, taking the subject 
as a matter of course between them. " Perhaps her 
mother may stay there with her, and I may come 
back very soon. This telegram leaves us in an ig- 
norance which is rather anxious. But no doubt the 
arrangements of the will lately made are satisfac- 
tory, and there may possibly be an heir yet to be 
born. In any case, T feel confident that Gwendolen 
will be liberally — I should expect, splendidly — pro- 
vided for." 

" It must have been a great shock for her," said 
Rex, getting more resolute after the first twinge 
had been borne. " I suppose he was a devoted 
husband." 

" No doubt of it," said the Rector, in his most 
decided manner. " Few men of his position would 
have come forward as he did under the circum- 
stances." 

Rex had never seen Grandcourt, had never been 
spoken to about him by any one of the family, and 
knew nothing of Gwendolen's flight from her suitor 
to Leubronn. He only knew that Grandcourt, being 
very much in love with her, had made her an oflFer 
in the first weeks of her sudden poverty, and had 
behaved very handsomely in providing for her mother 
and sisters. That was all very natural, and what 
Rex himself would have liked to do. Grandcourt 
VOL. II. Q 



474 DANIEL. DBRONDA. 

had been a lucky fellow, and had had some happiness 
before he got drowned. .Yet Bex wondered much 
whether Gwendolen had been in jlove with the suc- 
cessful suitor, or had only forborne to tell him that 
she hated being made love to. 



i75 



CHAPTER LIX. 



" I connt myself to not&ing else SO happy < 
As iu a soul remembering my good friends." 

— Shakespeakk. 



Sir HtTGo Mallinger was not so promjjt in starting 
for Genoa as Mr Gascoigne had been, and Deronda 
on all accounts would not take his ' dtjparture till he 
had seen the baronet. There w'as not only Granrf- 
court's death, but also the late crisis in his own life 
to make reasons why his oldest friend would desire 
to have the unrestrained communication of speech 
with him, for in writing he had h6t felt able 16 give 
any details coiic^^ming the mother who had come 
and gone like an apparition. It was not till the filth 
evening that Deronda, according to telegram, waited 
for Sir Hugo at the station, where he was to arrive 
between eight and nine ; and while he was looking 
forward to the sight of the kind, familiar fece, which 
was part of his earliest memories, something like a 
smile, in spite of his late tragic experience, might 
have been detected in his eyes and the curve of his 
lips at the idea of Sir Hugo's pleasure in being now 
master of his estates, able to leave them to his 



476 DANIEL DERONDA. 

daughters, or at least — according to a view of in- 
heritance which had just been strongly impressed 
on Deronda's imagination — to take makeshift fem- 
inine offspring as intermediate to a satisfactory heir 
in a grandson. We should be churlish creatures if 
we could have no joy in our fellow-mortals' joy, un- 
less it were in agreement with our theory of righteous 
distribution and our highest ideal of human good : 
what sour comerg our mouths would get — our eyes, 
what frozen glances ! and all the while our own pos- 
sessions and desires would not exactly adjust them- 
selves to our ideal. We must have some comrade- 
ship with imperfection ; and it is, happily, possible 
to feel gratitude even where we discern a mistake 
that may have been injuxious, the yehicle of the 
mistake being aa affectionate intention prosecuted 
through a lifetime of kindly offices. Deronda's feel- 
ing and judgment were strongly against the action 
of Sir Hugo in making himself the agent of a falsity 
— ^yes, a falsity: he could give no milder name to 
the concealment under which lio had been reared. 
But the baronet had probably had no clear know- 
ledge oonperr^ing the 'mother's breach of trust, and 
with his light, easy way of taking life, had held it a 
reasonable preference in her that her son should be 
ma,dean English gentleman, seeing that she had the 
eccentricity of not caring to part froip lier child, 
and be to him as if she were not. Daniel's affec- 
tionate gratitude towards Sir Hugo made him wish 
to find grounds of excuse rather than blame ; for it 
is asr possible to be rigid in principle and tender in 
blame, a« it is to suffer from the sight of things 



BOOK Vm.-— FKUIT Al^D SEED. 477 

hung awrj, and yet to be patient with the hanger 
who sees amiss. If Sir Hugo in his bachelorhood 
had been beguiled into regarding children chiefly 
as a product intended to make life more agreeable 
to the full-grown, whose convenience alone was to 
be consulted in the disposal of them— why, he had 
shared aii assumption which, if not formally avowed, 
was massively acted on at that date of the world's 
history ; and Deronda, with all his keen memory of 
the painful inward struggle he had gone through in 
his boyhood, was able also to remember the many 
signs that his experience had been entirely shut out 
from Sir Hugo's conception. Ignorant kindness 
may have the effect of cruelty; but to be angry 
with it as if it were direct cruelty would be an 
ignorant wnkindnfess, the most remote from Der- 
onda's large imaginative lenience towards others. 
And perhaps nbw, after the searching scenes of the 
last ten days, in which the curtain had bfeen lifted 
for him from the secrets of lives unlike his own, 
he was more than ever disposed to check that rash- 
ness of indignation or resentment which has an un- 
pleasant likeness to the love of punishing. When 
he saw Sir Hugo's familiar figure descending from 
the railway carriage, the life -long affection, which 
had been well accustomied to make excuses, flowed 
in and submerged all newer knowledge that might 
have seemed fresh ground for blame. 

"Well, Dan," said Sir Hugo, with a serious fer- 
vour, grasping Deronda's hand. He uttered no 
other words of greeting ; there was too strong a 
rush of mutual consciousness. The next thing was 



478 DANIEL DERONBA. 

to give orders to the courier, and. then to x)ropose 
walking slowly in the mild evening, there being no 
hurry to get to the hoteL 

"I have taken my journey easily, and am in* ex- 
cellent condition," he said, as hie 'and Beronda came 
out under the starlight, which was still faint with 
the hngering sheen of day. " I didn't hurry in 
setting off, because I wanted to inquire into things 
a Httlej and so I got sight of your' letter to' Lady 
MaUmger belbre I started. But now, hoV is the 
widow?" 

** Getting calmer," said Deronda. *' She seems to 
be escaping the bodily illness that one might have 
feared for her, after her plunge and terrible excite^ 
ment* Her uncle and mother came two days ago^ 
and she is being well taken care of." 

" Any prospect of an heir being born ? " 

"From what Mr Gascoigne said to me, I con- 
clude not. He spoke as if it were a question 
whether the widow would have tiie estates for 
her life." i . . 

" It will not be much of a wrench to heir affections, 
I fancy, .this loss of the husband?" said Sir Hugb^ 
looking round at Deronda. 

" The suddenness of the death has been a great 
blow to her," said Deronda, quietly evading the 
question. 

" I wonder whether Grandcourt gave her any 
notion what were the provisions of his will ? '^ said 
Sir Hugo. 

"Do you know what they are, sir?" parried Der- 
onda. 



BOOK Vm, FBfJIX AND SEED. 479 

"Yes, I do," said the baronet, quickly. ^'Gadt 
if there is no prospect of a legitimate heir, he has 
left everything to a boy he had by a Mrs Glasheir ; 
you know nothing about the affair, I suppose, but 
she was a sort of wife to him for a good many years, 
and there are three Q^der children — girls. The boy 
is to take his father's name ; h^ is Henleigh already, 
and he is to be Henloigh Mallinger Grandooiirt. 
The Mallinger will be of xio use to him, I am happy 
to say; but the young dog will have more than 
enough with his fourteen years' minority — no need 
to. have had holes filled up with my fifty tl^ousand 
for Diplow that he had no right to ; and meanwhile 
my beauty, the yoxmg widow, is to put up with a 
poor two thousand a-year and tlie house at Gadsmere 
— a nice kind of banishment for her if ^heqhose to 
shut Jaerself up there, which I don't think she will. 
The boy's mother has been living there of late years. 
I'm perfectly disgusted with Grandcourt. I don't 
know that I'm obliged to think the better of him 
because he's drowned, though, so far as my affairs 
are coi^cemed^ nothing in his life became hi^ like 
the leaving it." . 

"In my opinion he did. wrong when he married 
this wife — not in leaving his estates to the son," said 
Deronda, rather drily, 

"I say nothiug against his leaving the lan<^ to 
the lad," said Sir Hugo ; " but since he had married 
this girl he ought to have given her a handsome 
provision, such as she could live on in a style fitlied 
to the rank he had raised her to. She ought to have 
had four or five thousand a-year and the I/mdon 



480 DANIEL DERONDA. 

house for her life ; that's what I should have done 
for her. I suppose, as she was penniless, her friends 
couldn't stand out for a settlement, else it's ill trust- 
ing to the will a man may make after he's married. 
Even a wise man generally lets some folly ooze out 
of him in his will — my father did, I know ; and if a 
fellow has any spite or tyranny in him, he's likely 
to bottle off a good deal for keeping in that sort of 
document. It's quite clear Grandcourt meant that 
his death should put an extingxdshef on his wife, 
if she bore him lio heir." 

"And, in the other case, I suppose everything 
would have been reversed — illegitimacy would have 
had the extinguisher?" said Deronda, with some 
scorn. 

"Precisely — Gadsmere iand the two thousand. 
It's queer. One nuisance is that Grandcourt has 
made me an executor ; but seeing he was the son 
of my only brother, I can't refuse to act. And I 
shall mind it less, if I can be of any use to the 
widow. Lush thinks she was not in ignorance 
about the family under the rose, and the purport 
of the will. He hints that there was no very 
good understanding between the couple. But I 
fancy you are the man who knew most about 
what Mrs Grandcourt felt or did not feel — eh. 
Dan?" Sir Hugo did not put this question with 
his usual jocoseness, but rather with a lowered tone 
of interested inquiry ; and Deronda felt that any 
evasion would be misinterpreted. He answered 
gravely — 

^*She was certainly not happy. .They were un- 



BOOK VIH. FRUIT AND SEED. 481 

suited to each othet". But as to the disposal of the 
property — from all I have seen of her,. I should pre- 
dict that she will be quite contented with it." 

" Then she is not much like the rest of her sex ; 
thaVs all I can say," said Sir Hugo, with a sliglit 
shrug. " However, she ought to be something 
extraordinary, for there must be an entanglement 
between your horoscope and hers — eh? When 
that tremendoiia telegram came, the first thing 
Lady MalHnger said was, 'How very stjange that 
it should be Daixiel who sends it ! ' But I have had 
something of the same sort in my own life, I was 
once at a forei^ hotel where a lady had been left 
by her husband without money. When I heard of 
it, and came forward to help her, who should she 
be but an early flame of mine, who had been fool 
enough to marry an Austrian baron with a long 
moustache and short affection ? But it was an 
affair of my own that called me there — nothing 
to do with knight-errantry, any more than your 
coming to Genoa had to do with the Grandcourts." 

There was silence for a little while. Sir Hugo 
had begun to talk of the Grandcourts as the less 
difficult subject between himself and Deronda ; 
but they were both wishing to overcome a re- 
luctance to perfect frankness on the events wliich 
touched their relation to each other. Deronda felt 
that his letter, after the first interview with his 
mother, had been rather a thickening than a break- 
ing of the ice, and that lie ought to wait for the first 
opening to come firom Sir Hugo. Just when they 
were about to lose sight of the port, the baronet 



482 DANIEL DERONDA. 

turned, and pausing as if to get a last view, said 
in a tone of more serious feeling — 

" And about the main business of your coming to 
Genoa, Dan ? You have not been deeply pained by 
anything you have learned, I hope? Th^re is noth- 
ing that you feel need change your position in any 
way? You know, whatev^er happens to you must 
always be of importaiioe to me." 

^* I desire to meet your goodness by perfect con- 
fidence, sir," said Berdiida* "But I can't answer 
those questions truly by a simple yes or no. 
Much that I have heard about tihie past has pained 
me. And it has been a pain to meet and part with 
my mother in her sufferwag state, as I have been 
compelled to do. But if is no pain — -it is rather 
a clearing up of doubts for which I am tliankfnl, 
to know my parentage. As to the effect on my 
position, there will be no change in my gratitude 
to yOu, sir, for the fatherly care and affection you 
have always shown me. But to kiiowthat I was bom 
a Jew, may have a momentous influence on my life, 
which I am hardly able to tell you of at present.". 

Deronda spoke the last sentence with a resolve 
that overcame some diffidence. He felt that the 
differences between Sir Hugo's nature and his own 
would have, by-and-by, to disclose themselves more 
markedly than had ever yet been needful. The 
baronet gave him a quick glance, and turned to 
walk on. After a few moments' silence, in which 
he had reviewed all the material in his niemory 
which would enable him to interpret Derohda's 
words, he said-— 



BOOK .TIII.-^FEIXIT AND SEED. 483 

"I have long expected, something remaiiable 
from you, Dan"; butj for God's sake, don't go into 
mj ectjetntcicitieB 1 I can tolerate any main's differ- 
ence of.opihidu, but let him tell it 'me without get- 
ting hiniself up as a lunatic. At this stage of 'the 
world, if a man wanits to be taken seriously he miuit 
keep clear of melodrama. Don't misunderstand me. 
I am not suspecting you of setting up any lunacy on 
your own account. I only think you might easily be 
led arm in arm with a lunatic, especially if he wanted 
defending. You have a passion for people who are 
pelted, Dan. I'm sorry for them too ; but so far as 
company goes, it's a bad ground of selection. How- 
ever, I don't ask you to anticipate your inclination 
in anything you have to tell me. When you make 
up your mind to a course that requires money, I 
have some sixteen thousand pounds that have been 
accumulating for you over and above what you have 
been having the interest of as income. And now I 
am come, I suppose you want to get back to Eng- 
land as soon as you can ? " 

" I must go first to Mainz to get away a chest 
of my grandfather's, and perhaps to see a friend of 
his," said Deronda. " Although the chest has been 
lying there these twenty years, I have an unreason- 
able sort of nervous eagerness to get it away under 
my care, as if it were more likely now than before 
that something might happen to it. And perhaps 
I am the more uneasy, because I lingered after my 
mother left, instead of setting out immediately. Yet 
I can't regret that I was here — else Mrs Grandcourt 
would have had none but servants to act for her." 



484 DANIEL DERONDA. . 

" Yes, yes," said Sir Hugo, with a fli|)panoy which 
was an escape of some vexation hidden .under his 
more serions speech ; " I hope you are not going 
to set a dead Jew above a living Christian." 

Deronda coloured, and repressed a retort. They 
were just turning into the Italia. 



485 



CHAPTEE LX. 



*• But I shall say no more of this at this time ; for this is to be felt and 
not to be talked of ; and they who never touched it with their Angers may 
secretly perhaps laugh at it in their hearts and be never the wiser."— 
Jeremy Taylor. 

The Roman Emperor in the legend put to death ten learned Israelites to 
avenge the sale of Joseph by his bretliren. And there have always been 
enough of his, kidney, whose piety lies in puaiiihing who can. see the 
justice of grudges but not of gratituae. I'or you shall never convince the 
stronger feeling that it hath not the stronger reason, .or indlne hiiu who 
hath no love to believe that there i^ good ground- for loving. As we may 
learn from the order of word-making, wherein love pi-ecedelth lovable. 



When Deronda presented his letter at the banking- 
house in the Scktzster Strasse at Mainz, and asked 
fox' Joseph Kalonymos, he was presently sho\sii into 
an inner room where, seated at a table arranging 
open letters, was the white-bearded man whom he 
had seen the year before in the synagogue at Frank- 
fort. He wore his hat — it seemed to be the same 
old felt hat as before — and near him was a packed 
portmanteau with a wrap and overcoat upon it. On 
seeing Deronda enter he rose, but did not advance 
or put out his hand. Looking at him with small 
penetrating eyes which glittered like black gems 
in the midst of his yellowish face and wliite hairj 
he said in German — 



486 DANIEL I?ERONDA. 

" Good I It is now you who seek me, young 
man." 

" Yes ; I seek you with gratitude, as a friend of 
my grandfather's," said Deronda, " and I am under 
an obligation to you for giving yourself much 
trouble on my account." He spoke without diffi- 
culty in that liberal German tongue which takes 
many strange accents to its maternal bosom. 

Kalonymos now put out his hand and said cordi- 
ally, " So — you are no longer angry at being some- 
thing more tlian an Englishman?'* 

" On the contrary. I thank you hieartily for 
helping to save me from remaining in ignorance 
of my parentage, and for taking care of the chest 
that my grandfather left in trust for me.'^ 

" Sit down, sit down," said Kalonymos, in a quick 
under-tone, seating himself again, and pointing to 
a chair near him. Then deliberately laying aside 
his Jiat and ^bowing a head, thipkly covered with 
white hair, he stroked and clutched his beard wjaile 
he looked examiningly at , the yqung fe-qe .before 
him. The moment wrought strongly on Deronda's 
imaginative susceptibility: in the presence of one 
linked still in zealous fi;iendahip with the grand- 
father whose hope had yearned towards him when 
he was unborn, and who .though dead was yet to 
speak with him in those written memorials which, 
says Milton, '* contain a potency of life in them to 
be as active a* that soul whose progeny they are," 
he seemed, to himself to be touching the electric 
chain of his own ancestry; and he bore the scruti- 
nising look of Kalonymos with a delighted awe, 



BOOK Vlli.-^FRUIT AND SEED. 487 

Bomethirig like what one feels in the solemn cbm- 
memoratiDn of acts done long ago but still telling 
maJ'fcedly on the* life of to-day; ' • Impossible for men 
of duller fibte— men whose afifecti^n is not ready 
to diffuse itself tiirough the wide travel of imagina- 
tion, to comprehend, perhaps even to credit this 
sensibility ofDetonda's ; but it subsisted, like their 
own dulness, notwithstanding thein: lack of belief 
in it — and it gave his face an expression which 
seemed veiy sa^jisfectdry: to the observer. 

He said in Hebrew, quoting from one of the fiiie 
hymns in the Hebrew litui-gy, ** As thy goodness 
has been great to the former generations, even so 
may it be to the latter." Then ^fter pausing a 
little he began, "Young man, I rejoice that I was 
not yet set off^ again on my travels, 4nd *that you 
are come in time for me to see the image of my 
friend as he was in his youth -^-^ no longer pervert- 
ed from thb fellowship of your people — no longer 
fehrinking in. proud 'Wmlih from the touch of him 
who seemed to be claiming you as a Jew. You 
come with thankfulness yourself to claim the kin- 
dred and heritage that Witiked contrivance would 
have robbed you of. You come with a Willing soul 
to declare, *I am llie grandson of Daniel Charisi.' 
Is it riot so?" 

"Assuredly it .is," said Deronda. "But let me 
say that I should at no time have been inclined to 
treat a Jew with incivility simiply because he was a 
Jew. You can understand that I shrank from say- 
ing to a Btranger, ^ I know nothing of my mother.' " 

" A sin, a' sinl" said Kalomymos, pttttinjg up his 



488 DANIEL DERONDA. 

hand and closing las feyes in disgust. " A robbery 
of onr pe^le:— ais when pur youths and maidens were 
reared fol^the Roman Edom.; Btit- it is frustrated. 
I have frustrated it. When Daniel Oharisi — may 
his Rock and his Redeemer guard him I -— when 
Daniel Ghariai was a stripling . and I was a lad little 
above his shoulder, >ye made a soletfm vow always 
to be friends. He said, * Let us bind ourselves with 
duty, as if we were sons of the same mother/ That 
was his bent, fix)m first tq last— as he said, to fortify 
his soul with bonds. It was a saying of his, • Let 
us bind love with duty ;, for duty is the love of law ; 
and law is the nature of the Eternal.' So we bound 
ourselves. And though we were muoh apart in our 
later life, the bond has never- been .broken. When 
he was dead, they sought to rob him; but they 
could not rob him of me. I rescued that remainder 
of him which he had prized and preserved for his 
offspring. And I have restored to him the oflFspring 
they had robbed him of. I will bring you the chest 
forthwith." 

Kalonymoa left the room for a few minutes, and 
returned with a clerk who carried the chest, set it 
down on the floor, drew . oflF a leather cover, and 
went out again. It was not very large, but was 
made heavy by ornamenta.1 bracers and handles of 
gilt iron. The wood was beautifully incised with 
Arabic lettering. 

" So I " said Kalonymos, returning to his seat. 
" And here is the curious key," he added, taking it 
from a small leathern bag. "Bestow it carefully. 
I trust you are methodic and wary." He gave Der- 



BOOK Vllt — FBUrr AND SEED. 489 

onda the monitory aB<l slightly suspicious look with 
which age is apt to commit any object to the keep* 
ing of youth. . 

" I shall be more careful of this than of any other 
property/' said Deronda, smiling and putting the 
key in his breast-pocket. " I never : before possessed 
anything that was a sign to me of so miuch cherished 
hope and effort. And I shall never forget that the 
effort was partly yours. Have you time to tell me 
more of my grandfather ? Or shall I be trespassing 
in staying longer ? " 

"Stay yet a while. In an hour and eighteen 
minutes I start for Trieste," said Kalonymos, look- 
ing at his watch, " and presently my sons will ex- 
pect my attention. Will you let me make/ you 
known to them, so that they may have the pleasure 
of showing hospitality to my friend's grandson ? 
They dwell here in ease and luxury, tlwugli I 
choose to be a wanderer." 

" I shall be glad if you will coinmend me to their 
acquaintanjce for some future opportunity," said 
Deronda. "There are pressing claims calling me 
to England — friends who may be much in peed of 
my presence. I have been kept away from them 
too long by unexpected circumstances. But to 
know more of you and your family would be motive 
enough to bring me again to IVIainz." 

" Good I Me you will hardly find, for I am be- 
yond my threescore years and ten, and I am a wan- 
derer, carrying my shroud with me. But my sons 
and their childreti dwell here in wealth and unitj^ 
The days are changed for us in Mainz since our 



490 DANIEL DEKONDA. 

people were slaughtei:ed wholesale if they wouldn't 
be baptised wholesale : they arfe changed for tis 
since Karl the Great fetched my ancestors from Italy 
to bring some tincture of knowledge to our Hough 
German brethren. I and my contemporaries have 
had to fight for it too. Our youth fell on evil days ; 
but this we have won: we increase our wealth in 
safety, afld the learning of all Germany is fed and 
fattened by Jewish brains — ^though they keep not 
always their Jewish hearts. Have you been left 
altogether ignorant of your people's lifiB, young 
man?" 

"No," said Deronda, " I have lately, before I had 
any true suspicion of my parentage, been led to 
study everything belonging to their history with 
more interest than any other subject. It turns out 
that I have been making myself ready to understand 
my gmndfather a little." He was anxious lest the 
time should be consumed before this circuitous 
course of talk coiild lead them back to the topic he 
most cared about. Age does not easily distinguish 
between what it needs to express and what youth 
needs to know — distance seeming to level the ob- 
jects of memory ; and keenly active as Joseph Kal- 
onymois showed liirnself, an inkstand in the wrong 
place would have hindered his imagination from 
getting to B(\yrout : he had been used to unite rest- 
less travel with punctilious observation. But Der- 
onda's last sentence answered its purpose. 

" So — you would perhaps have been such a man 
as he if your education had not hindered ^ for you 
are like him in features : — yet not altog^ther^ young 



BOOK Vm. FBUIT AND SEED. 49i 

man. He had an iron will in hi& face : it braced up 
everybody about him. When he was quite young 
he had already got one deep 'upright line in his 
brow. I scie none of that; in you. Daniel Charifli 
used to say, ^ Better a wrong will than a wavering; 
better a steadfast enemy than an 'uncertain friend; 
bett>9r ^ falise belief than no belief at all.' What 
h^ d^^pised most was indiifere^ce^ He had longer 
reasons than I oan ^ive you," 

"Yet his knowledge was not narrow?" said Der- 
onda, with a tacit, reference t6 the usual excuse for 
indecision — thali it comes from knowing tosO much.. 

" Nasrrow ? no," said Kalonymos, shaking, his head 
with a compassionate smile. " From hib- childhood 
upward, he drank in learning as easily as the plant 
sucks up water. But he early took to medicine and 
theories about' life and health. He travelled to 
many countries,. and spent much of his substanice in 
seeing and knowing., What he used to insist on 
was that the strength and wealth of maixkitid de- 
pended on the balance of separati^iess and com- 
munication, and he was bitterly against our people 
losing themselves among the Gentiles ; ^ It's no 
better,' sai<l he, ' tlian the many sorts of grain going 
back from, their variety intp sameness*' He mingled 
all sorts of learning ; and in that he was like our 
Arabic writers in the golden time. We studied to- 
gether, but he went beyond me. Though we were 
bOBom friends, and he poured himself out to me, we 
were as different as the inside and the outside of the 
bowl. I stood up for no notions of my own : I took 
Charisi's sayings as I took the shape of 'the trees : 



492 DANIEL DERONDA. 

they were there, not to be disputed about. It came 
to the same thing in both of us : we were both 
faithful Jews, thankful not to be Gentiles. And 
since I was a ripe man, I have been what I am now, 
for all but age — loving to wander, loving transac- 
tions, loving to behold all things, and caring noth- 
ing about hardship. Charisi thought continually of 
our people's future : he went with all his soiil into 
that part of our religion : I, not. So we have free- 
dom, I am content. Our people wandered before 
they were driven. Young man, when I am in the 
East, I lie much on deck and watch the greater 
stars. The sight of them satisfies me. I know 
them as they rise, and hunger not to know more. 
Charisi was satisfied with no sight, but pieced it out 
with what had been before and what would come 
after. Yet we loved each other, and as he said, we 
bound our love with duty ; we solemnly pledged our- 
selves to help and defend each other to the last. I 
have fulfilled my pledge." Here Kalonymos rose, 
and Deronda, rising also, said — 

"And in being feithful to him you have caused 
justice to be done to me. It would have been a 
robbery of me too that I should never have known 
of the inheritance he had prepared for me. I thank 
you with my whole soul." 

^^ Be worthy of him, young man. What is your 
vocation?" This question was put with a quick 
abruptness which embarrassed Deronda, who did 
not feel it quite honest to allege his law-rea<ling 
as a vocation. He answered — 

"I cannot say that I have any." 



BOOK VIII. ^FRUIT AND SEED. 493 

"Get one, get one. The Jew must be diligent 
You will call yourself a Jew and profess the faitli 
of your fathers ? " said Kalonymos, putting his hand 
on Deronda's shoulder and looking sharply in his 
face. 

" I shall call myself a Jew," said Deronda, de- 
liberately, becoming slightly paler under the pierc- 
ing eyes of his questioner. "But I will not say 
that I shall profess to believe exactly as my fathers 
have believed. Our fathers themselves changed the 
horizon of their belief and learned of other races. 
But I think I can maintain my grandfather's notion 
of separateness with communication. I hold that 
my first duty is to my own people, and if there is 
anything to be done towards restoring or perfecting 
their common life, I shall make that my vocation." 

It happened to Deronda at that moment, as it has 
often happened to others, that the need for speech 
made an epoch in resolve. His respect for the 
questioner would not let him decline to answer, and 
by the necessity to answer he found out the truth 
for himself. 

"Ah, you argue and you look forward — you are 
Daniel Charisrs grandson," said Kalonymos, adding 
a benediction in Hebrew. 

With that they parted ; and almost as soon as 
Deronda was in I^ondon, the aged man was again 
on shipboard, greeting the friendly stars without 
any eager curiosity. 



494 



CHAPTEE LXr. 



*' Within the gentle heart Love shelters him. 
Air biiids votihin the greeii giiade of the ^ove. 
Before the gentle heart, in Nature's scheme, 
Love was hot, nor the gentle heart ere Love." 



THEttB was another house besidBs the whit^ house 
at Peunioote, , another, .breast besidee.. Rex Gas- 
coigne's, in which the news of Gri),ridoourt's death 
caused both strong agitation and the effort to re- 
press it. 

It was Hans Meyriok's habit to send or bring in 
the * Times * for his mother's reading. She was a 
great reader of news, from the widest -reaching pol- 
itics to thb list of mamages ; the latter, she said, 
giving her the pleasant sense of finishing the 
fashionable novels without having read them, aaid 
seeing the heroes and heroines happy without know- 
ing what poor creatures they wene. On, a Wednes- 
day, there were reasons why Hans always chose to 
bring the paper, and to do so about the time tliat 
Mirah had nearly ended giving Mab her weekly les- 
son, avowing that he came then because lie wanted 
to hear Mirah sing. But on the particular Wednes- 



BOOK Vin.^ — ^FRTJIT AND SEED. 495 

day now in question, rtfter entering- the house as 
quietly as usual with his latch - key, he appeaTdd 
in the parlour, shaking the * Times ' aloft With a 
crackling noise, iii remorseless interruption of Mab's 
attempt to render Ldscta chUo pianga with a remote 
imitation of her teacher. Piano and song ceased J 
immediately : Mirah, who had been playing the accom- 
paniment, involuntarily started up and turned round, 
the crackling sound, after the occasional trick of 
sounds, having seemed to her Something thunderous ; 
and Mab said — ^ 

" O-o-o, Hans ! why do you bring a mote horrible 
noise tlian my singing?*' 

"What on earth is the wonderfiil newtT?" said 
Mrs Meyrick, who was tlie only other person in the 
ro<3m. " Anything about Italy — anything about the 
Austrians giving up Venice ? " 

" Nothing about Italy, but something from Italy," 
said Hdns, with a peculiarity in his tone and man- 
ner which set his mother interpreting. Imagine 
how some of us feel and behave when an event, not 
disagreeable, seems to be confirming and carrying ^ 
out our private constructions. We say, "What do 
ymi think?" in a pregnant tone to some innocent 
perfion who has'' not embarked his wisdom in th^ 
same boat with ours, and finds our information flat. 

"Nothing bad?" said Mrs Meyrick, anxiously, 
thinking immediately of Deronda ; and Mirah's heart 
had been already clutched by the same thought. 

" Not bad for anybody we care much about," said 
Hans, quickly ; " rather uncommonly lucky, I think. 
I never knew anybody die conveniently before. 



4»6 DANIEL DERONDA, 

Considering what a dear gazelle I am, I am con- 
btantly won:dering to find myself alive." . 

"Oh me, Hans!" said Mab, impatiently, "if you 
must talk of yourself, let it be behiiid your own 
back What is it that has iappened?" 

" Duke Alfonso is drowned, and the Duchess is 
alive, that's all," said Hans, putting the paper be- 
fore Mrs Meyriok, with his finger against a para- 
graph. "But more than all is — Deronda was at 
Genoa in the same hotel with them, and he saw her 
brought in by the fishermen, who had got her out of 
the water time enough to save her from any harm. 
It seems they saw her jump in after her husband — 
which was a less judicious action than I should 
have expected of the Duchess. However, Deronda 
is a lucky fellow, in being there to take care of her." 

Mirah had sunk on the music-stool again, with 
her eyelids down and her hands tightly clasped ; and 
Mrs Meyrick, giving up the paper to Mab, said — 

"Poor thing I she must have been fond of her 
husband, .to jump in after him." 

" It was an inadvertence — a little absence of mind," 
said Hans, creasing his face roguishly, and throwing 
himself into a chair not far from Mirah. " Who can 
be fond of a jealous baritone^ with freezing glances, 
always singing asides ? — that was the husband's rofe, 
<lepend upon it. Nothing can be neater than his 
getting drowned. The Duchess is at liberty now 
to maiTy a man with a fine head of hair, and glances 
that will melt instead of freezing her. And I shall 
be invited to the wedding." 

Here Mirah started from her sitting posture, and 



BOOK VIII. — VRvrr and seed. 497 

fixing her eyes on Hans with an angry gleam in 
them, she said, in the deeply-shaken voice of indig- 
nation — 

" Mr Hans, yon onght not to speak in that way. 
Mr Deronda would not like you to speak so. Why 
will you say he is lucky — why will you use words 
of that sort about life and death — when what is life 
to one is death to another? How do you know it 
would be lucky if he loved Mrs Qranfdcourt? It 
might be a great evil to him. She would take him 
away from my brother — I know she' would. Mr 
Deronda would not call that lucky— to pierce my 
brother's heart." 

All three were struck with the sudden transfoima- 
tion. Mirah's feice, with a look of anger tliat miglit 
have suited Ithuriel, pale even to the lips that were 
usually so rich of tint, was not- far from poor Hans, 
who sat transfixed, blushing under it as if he had 
been the girl, while he said nervously — 

" I am a fool and a brute, and I withdraw every 
word. Til go and hang myself like Judas-r-if it's 
allowable to mention him." Even in Hans's sorrow- 
fiil moments, his improvised words had inevitably 
some drollery. 

But Mirah's anger was not appeased : how could 
it be ? She had burst into indignant speech as crea- 
tures in intense pain bite and make their teeth meet 
even through their own fleshy by way of making 
their agony bearable. She dead no more, but, seat- 
ing herself at the piano, pressed the sheet of music 
before her, as if she thought of beginning to play 
again. 



498 DANIEL DERONDA. 

It was Mab who spoke, while Mrs Meyriok's faoe 
seemed to reflect some of Hans's disdomfort* 

"Mirah is quite right to scold you, Hans. You 
are always taking Mr Deronda's name in yain. And 
it is horrible, joking in that way about hitf maiTying 
Mrs (rrandcourt Men's minds inrist be very black, 
I think," ended Mab, with much scorn, 

" Quite true, my dear," said Hans, in II low tone, 
rising and turning on his heel to walk towards the 
back window. > 

. *^ W0 had better go on, Mab ; you have not given 
your full time to the lesson," said Miiiah, in a higher 
tone than usual. " Will you sing this . a^in, or 
shall I sing it to you?" 

" Oh, please sing it to rpe>" said Mab, rejoiced to 
take no more notice of what had happiened. 

And Mirah immediately sang Lasda cKio pianga^ 
giving forth its melodious sobs and cries with new 
fulness and energy. Hans paused in his walk and 
leaned against tlie mantelpiece, keeping his eyes 
carefdlly away from his mother's. When Mirah had 
sung her lastjiote and touched the last chord, she 
rose and said, <^ I must go home now. ]Szra expeotp 
me:" 

She gave her hand silently to Mrs Meyrick and 
hung back a little, not daring; to look at her, instead 
of kissing her as usual But the little mother drew 
Mifah's face down to hers, and said soothingly, " Grod 
bless you, my dear." Mirah felt that ^e had com- 
mitted an offence against Mrs Meyrick by angrily 
rebukiiig Hans, and .mixfed with the rest of her suf- 
fering^ was the sense that she had shown something 



BOOK VIIL-^FRtJIT ' AND SEED. 499 

like a proud ingratitude, an unbecoming assertion 
of siiperiority. And her friend had divined this com- 
punction. 

Meanwhile Hans had seized his wide-awake, and 
wafe ready to of>en the door. 

" Now, Hans," said Mab, with what wa^ really a 
sister's tenderness cunningly disguised, "you aire 
not gcJing to walk home' with Mirah. I am sure 
she would ratlier not. Yon are so dreadfully dis- 
agreeable to-day.^' • 

" I shall go to take care of her, if she does not for- 
bid me,'^ said Hans, opening the door. 

Mirah said nothing, and when he had opened the 
outer door for her and cloBed it behind him, he walked 
by her side unforbidden. She had not the courage 
to begin speaking to him again — conscidus that she 
had perhaps been unbecomingly severe in her words 
to him, yet finding only severer words behind th^m 
in her heart. Besides, she was pressed upon by a 
ctowd of thoughts thrusting themselves forward as 
interpreters of that consciousness which still re- 
mained nnuttered to herself. 

Hans; on his side, had a itiind equally husy. 
Mirah' s anger had waked in him a new perception, 
and with it the unpleasant sense that he w8ls a dolt 
not to have had it before. Suppose Mirah's heart 
were entirely preoccupied with Deronda in another 
character than that of her own and her brother's 
benefactor : the supposition was attended in Hans's 
mind with anxieties which, to do him justice, were 
not altogether selfish. He had a strong persuasion, 
which only direct evidence to the contrary could 



500 DANIEL DEKONDA. 

have dissipated, that there was a serious attach- 
ment between Deronda and Mrs Grandcourt; he 
had pieced together many fragments of observa- 
tion and gradually gathered knowledge, completed 
by what his sisters had heard from Anna Gascoigne, 
which convinced him not only that Mrs Grandcourt 
had a passion for Deronda, but also, notwithstand- 
ing his friend's austere self- repression, that Der- 
onda*8 susceptibility about her was the sign of con- 
cealed love. Some men, having such a conviction, 
would have avoided allusions that could have roused 
that susceptibility ; but Hans's talk naturally flut- 
tered towards mischief, and he \yas given to a form 
of experiment on live animals which consisted in 
irritating his friends playfully. His experiments 
had ended in- satisfying him that what he thought 
likely was true. 

On the otliei hand, any susceptibility Deronda had 
manifested about a. lover's attentions being shown to 
Mirah, Haps took to be sufficiently accounted for by 
the alleged reason, namely, her dependent position ; 
for he credited his friend with all possible unselfish 
anxiety for those whom he could rescue or protect. 
And Deronda's insistence that Mirah would never 
marry one who was not a Jew necessarily seemed 
to exclude himself, since Hans shared the ordinary 
opinion, which he knew nothing to disturb, that Der- 
onda was the son of Sir Hugo Mallinger. 

Thus he felt himself in clearness about the state 
of Deronda's aflfections ; but now, the events which 
really struck him as concurring towards the desir- 
able union with Mrs Grandcourt, had called forth a 



BOOK Vm. FRUIT AND SEED. 501 

flafih of revelation from Mirah- — a betrayal of her 
passionate feeling on this subject which made. him 
melancholy on her account as well as his own — 
yet on the whole less melancholy than if he had 
imagined Deronda^s hopes fixed on her. It is not 
sublime, but it is common, for a man to see the 
beloved object unhappy because his rival loves 
anotlier, with more fortitude and a milder jealousy 
than if he saw her entirely happy in his rivaL At 
least it was so with the mercurial Hans, who fluctu- 
ated between the contradictory states, of feeling 
wounded because Mirali was wounded, and of being 
almost obliged to Deronda for loving somebody 
else. It was impossible for him to give Mirah-any 
direct sign of the way in which he had understood 
her anger, yet he longed that his speechless com- 
panionsliip should be eloquent in a tender, peni- 
tent sympathy which is an admissible form of 
wooing a bruised heart. 

Thus the two went side by side in a companion- 
ship that yet seemed an agitated communication, 
like that of two chords whose quick vibrations lie 
outside our hearing. But when they reached the 
door of Mirah's home, and Hans said "Good-bye," 
putting out his hand with an appealing look of pen- 
itence, she met the look with melancholy gentle- 
ness, and said, " Will you not come in and see my 
brother ?'' 

Hans could not but interpret this invitation as a 
sign of pardon. He had not enough undenstanding 
of what Mirah'S nature had been wrought into by 
her early experience, to divine how the very strength 



502 DANIEL DERONDA. 

of her late excitement: had made it pass the more 
quickly into a resoltite acceptance of pain. When 
he had said, " If yon will let me/' and they went in 
together, half his grief was gone, and he was spin- 
ning a little romance of how his devotion might 
make him indispensable- to Mirah in pi^oportion as 
Deronda gave his devotion elsewhere. This was 
quite fair, since his friend was provided for accord- 
ing to his own heart,; and on the question of Judar 
ism Hans felt thoroughly fortified : — who ^erver hefiird 
in tale or history that a'woman*s love went in the 
track of her race and religion ? Moslem and Jewish 
damsels were always attr^ted towards Christians, 
and now if Mirah's heart had gone forth too precipi- 
tately • towards Deronda, here was another case in 
point. Hans was wont to make merry with his own 
arguments, to call' himself a Giaour, and antithesis 
the sole clue to events; but he believed a little in 
what he laughed at. And thus his bird-like hope, 
constructed on the lightest principles, soared again 
in spit© of heavy circumstance. 

They found Mbrdecai looking singularly happy, 
holding a closed letter in his hand, his eyed glowing 
with a quiet trium^)!! which in his emaciated face 
gave the idea of a conquest over astiailing death. 
After the greeting between him and Hans, Mirah 
put her arm round her brother's neck and looked 
down at the letter in his hand, without the cotirage 
to ask about it, though she felt sure that it was the 
cause of his happiness. ' 

/^ A letter from 'Daniel Deronda," said Mordecai, 
anisweritig her look. "-Brief— only saying that he 



BOOK VIII.~FRUIT AND SEED. ^03 

hopes soon to return. Unexpected claims have de- 
tained liim. The proiaise of seeing hira again is like 
the bow. in the cloud to me," continued Mordecai, 
looking at Hans ; " and to you ako it must be a 
gladness* FiOr who has two friends like him?" 

While Hans was answering Mirahi slipped away 
to her own roopi; but not to indulge in any outburst 
of the passion within her. If the angels once sup- 
posed to watch the toilet of women had entered fhe 
little chamber with her and. let her shut the door ber 
hind them, they would only have seen her take off 
her hat, sit down and press her hands against her 
temples as if she^ had suddenly reflected that her 
head ached ; then rise to dash cold water on her 
Qyes and brow and hair till her backward ourls ijvere 
full of crystal beads, while she had dried her brow 
and looked out like a freshly -opened flower from 
among the dewy tresses of the woodland ; thei\ 
give deep, sighs of relief, and putting on her little 
slippers, sit still after that action for a couple of 
minutes, which seemed to her so long, so full of 
things to come, that she rose with an air of recol- 
lection, and went down to make tea.; 

Something of the old life had returned. She had 
been used to remember that she must learn her part, 
must go to rehearsal, must act and sing in the even- 
ing, must hide Imr. feelings from her father ; and the 
more painful her life grew, the .more she had b^en 
used to hide. Th6 force of her nature had long 
fouixd its chief action in resolute, enduraince, and 
io-day tha ' violence of feeling which, had caused 
tha first jet of anger had quickly transformed itself 



504 DANIEL DERONDA. 

into a steady facing of trouble, tlie well-known com- 
panion of her young years. But while she moved 
about and spoke as usual, a close observer might 
have discerned a difference between this apparent 
calm, which was the effect of restraining energy, 
and the sweet genuine calm of the months when 
she first felt a return of her infantine happiness. 

Those who have been indulged by fortune and 
have always thought of calamity as what happens 
to others, feel a blind incredulous rage at the re- 
versal of their lot, and half believe that their wild 
cries will alter the course of the storm. Mimh felt 
no such surprise when familiar Sorrow came back 
from brief absence, and s«it down with her according 
to the old use and wont. And this habit of expect- 
ing trouble rather than joy, hindered her from liav- 
ing any persistent belief in opposition to the prob- 
abilities which were not merely suggested by Hans 
but were supported by her own private knowledge 
and long -growing presentiment. An attachment 
between Deronda and Mrs Grandcourt, to end in 
tlieir ftiture marriage, had the aspect of a certainty 
for her feeling. There had been no fault in him : 
facts had ordered themselves so that there was a 
tie between him and this woman who belonged to 
another world than her own and Ezra's — nay, who 
seemed another sort of being than Deronda, some- 
thing foreign that would be a disturbance in his life 
instead of blending with it. Well, well— but if it 
could have been deferred so as to make no diffei^ 
enoe while Ezra was there I She did not know all 
the momentousness of the relation between Deronda 



BOOK VIII. FBUIT AND SEED. 505 

aaid^ her brotlter, but she had seien, and instmettvely 
felt enough to forebode its being incongruoiie with 
any cloae tie to Mrs Gmndcoiirt 5 at least thi» wa6 
the clothing that Mirah first : gave to her n^ortal 
repugnance. But in the at ill) quick action of her 
consoiousneBs, thoughte went on like changing et^Aee 
of Sensation linhroken by her habitual .acts; and 
<ihiB inward language soon said distinctly that, the 
Baortal repugnance would remfoin even if E^a were 
eecaired from loss. 

" Wliat I have read about and sun.g about auij 
seen> acted^ is happening to me ri- this n that I a^ 
feeling is the love that makes jealousy : "'t-bo im,- 
psuEtially Mirah summed, up th6 icharge against 
herself. But what difilereace could this pdiu of 
hers make: to any bm© else? It m;U8t y^mto fis; ex- 
clusively her own, and hidden, as hereairly yearuing 
and devotion towards her lost mother* But unlikje 
that devotion, it was Bomething, that 4he felt to b^ 
a misfortune of her nature—^ a discovery that what 
should have been pure gratitudp and reverence had 
sunk into selfish pain, thali .the feeling she . had 
hitherto delighted to pour out in wOrds w$.fi <Jer 
graded into something she wais dshelmed t<j> betray 
.'^an absurd longing that she. who had reoeived. all 
and given nothing should be of importwwje , where 
she was of no importance-r-ari angry feeling tovfajrdB 
another woinan who possessed the -good she wauted. 
But "Whsit notion, what vain reliance could it be that 
had lain darkly within her And was noW'.burnilig 
itself into sight as disappointment ^ and jealousy? 
It was as if her soul had been stooped in poisonous 
VOL. II. ' R 



506 DANIEL DEHONDA. I 

passion by forgotten dreams of deep sleep^ and now 
flamed out in this tinacconntable misery. For with 
her waking reason she had never entertained what 
seemed the wildly unfitting thought that Deronda 
could love her. The uneasiness she. had feit before 
had been comparatively vague and easily explained 
as part of a general regret that! he was only a 
visitant in her alid her brother^s world, from which 
the world where his home lay was as different as a 
portico with lights and lacqueys was differekit from 
the door of a tent, where the only splendour came 
ftom the mysterious inaccessible stars. But her 
feSeling was no longer vague : the cause of her pain 
—the image of Mrs Grandcourt by'Deronda's taide 
drawing him farther and farther into the distance, 
was '6,8 definite as pincers on her flesh. In the 
Psycihe-lnould of Mirah^s frame there rested a fervid 
quality of emotion sometimes rashly supposed • to 
require the bulk of a Cleopatra; her impressions 
had the thoroughness and: tenacity that give to the 
first selection of passionate feeling the character 
of a life -long faithfullieBS. And now a selection 
had declared itself, which gave love a- xiruel heart 
of jealousy : she had been used to a strong repug- 
nance towards certain objects that surrounded her, 
and to walk inwardly aloof from them while they 
touched her sense. And now her repugnance con- 
centrated itself on Mrs Grandcourt, of whom she 
involuntarily conceived more evil than she knew. 
" I cotild bear everything that used to be — but this 
is worse*— this is- worse,^I used not to have horrible 
feelings ! '* said the poor child in a loud whisper to 



BOOK Vin.-~TRUITi AND SEED. 507 

her pillow; Strange, Uiat she should have to pray 
against any feeling which concerned DerandaJ - 

But this conclusion had heen reached thiiough an 
evenitig spent in attending toMordecai, whose iBxal- 
tataon of spirit in the prospect of seeing his frietid 
again, disposed him to utter many thoughts aloud 
to Mirah, though such communication wa6 often 
interrupted by intervals apjparehtly filled with' an 
inward utterance that animated his eyes and gave 
an occasional silent action to hisilips. One thought 
eispeciaUy occupied him. 

" Seest thou, Mirah," be said once, after ^ long 
silence, " the Shemah, wherein- 1 we briefljl' confess 
the divine Unity, is the chief devotional exerciBe 
of the Hebrew ; and this made, our rdligion the 
fandamental religion for the •whole world j. for the 
divine ■ Unity embraced as its - consequencia the ulti- 
mate unity of mankind • S^e, then— -the [nation 
which has been scoffed at ibr its sepfarateness, ha^ 
given a binding theory to thie human race. Now, 
in ooiiiplete unity a poit possesses the whole as 
the whole possesses every part : and in this way 
human life* is tending toward the image of the Su- 
preDde Unity : for as = our life becomes more spiritual 
by capacity of Idiought, and joy thiarein, possession 
tends to become more universal, being itidependent 
of gross material contact; so that in a brief day 
the soul of a man may know in fuller volume the 
good which has been, and' is, nay, is to come, than 
all he could poissess in a wholes (life where he had 
to follow the creelping pathfa of the riienses. In thid 
moment, my sister, I hold the joy of another's future 



508 DANIEL miRONDA. 

within me : a future which these eyes will not see, 
and which my spirit may not then i-eoognise as 
mine. I recognise it now, and lo'^f^e it so, that I 
can lay down this poor life upon its altar and say: 
'Bum, bum indiscernibty into that which shall be, 
whi-6h is my Idve and not me/ Doigt thou undi^r- 
staiid, Mirah?" 

"A little," said Mirah, faintly, '^but my mind ia 
too poor, to have felt it;" 

" And yBt," said ]\lordecai, rather insistently, 
" women are specially framed for the love which 
feels possession in renouncing, and is thus a fit 
image of what I mean. Somewhere in the later 
Midmsh, I think, sis the story of. a Jewish maiden 
who loved a Gentile iking s6 well, that this was 
what she did : — She entered into prison and changed 
clothes with the womaii who was beloved by the 
king, that she might deliver that woman from death 
by dying in 'her stead,, and' leave the king (to be 
happy in his love which was not for her. This is 
the surpassing love, that IxKses self in the object of 
love." • • 

"No, Ezra, no," said Mirah,. with low-rtoned in- 
tensity, "that was not it. She wanted the king 
when she was dead to know what she had done, 
and feel that she was better than the other. It 
was her strong self, wanting to conquer, that made 
her die." ^ 

Mordecai was silent a. little, and then argued— 

"That might be, Mirah. • ' But if she aoted so, 
believing the king ^ould never know?" 

"Yon can- make the story so in your mind, Ezi-a, 



BOOK VIII. FRUIT AND SEED. 509 

because you are great, and like to fancy the greatest 
that could be. But I think it was not really like 
that. The Jewish girl must have had jealousy in 
her heart, and she wanted somehow to have the 
first place in the king's mind. That is what she 
woiild die for."^ 

" My sister, thou hast read too many plays, where 
the writers delight ib shcri^^ing'tke human passions 
as indwelling demons, unmixed with the relenting 
and devout elements of the souL Thou judgest 
by the plays, and not by thy own' .heart, which is 
like our mother's." ' j 

Mirah made no answer. ' 



. i I 



510 



CHAPTER LXIL 

' Das Gltick i«t ei&e leiohte Dirfte, 
Und, weilt nicht gem am selben Ort ; 
Sie streicht das Haar dir von der Stimo • 
Und klisst dich rasch und flattei-t fort. 

Frau Ungllick hat im Gegentheile 
Dich liebefest an's Herz gedriickt ; 
Sie sagt, sie babe keine Eile, 
Setzt sich zu dir ans Bett and strickt." 

—Heine. 

Something which Mirah had lately been watching 
for as the fulfilment of a threat, seemed now the 
continued visit of that familiar sorrow which had 
lately come back, bringing abundant luggage. 

Turning out of Knightsbridge, after singing at 
a charitable morning concert in a^ wealthy house, 
where she had been recommended by Klesmer, and 
where there had been the tisual groups outside to 
see the departing company, she began to feel her- 
self dogged by footsteps that kept an even pace 
with her own. Her concert dress being simple 
black, over which she had thrown a dust cloak, 
could not make her an object of unpleasant atten- 
tion, and render walking an imprudence ; but this 
reflection did not occur to Mirah : another kind of 
alarm lay uppermost in her mind. She immediately 



BOOK Yin. ^FBUITiAND SEED. 5ill 

thought of ihuer father, and could no njoire lodk ifound 
than if she had felt herself tracked by « ghost* To 
turn and face him would bis voluntarily to -meet 
the rush of emotions which befolmkand seemed' m- 
tolerable. If it were her father^ he must mean to 
claim recogm^on, and he would oblige her to fade 
him. She must wait for that compulsion. • She 
walked on, not quickening her pace -rf of. what use 
was that?*— but pictiiring what was about td>happen 
as if: she had the ^11 certainty, that th^ manbehmd 
her was her father/; and along with her' jfioturing 
went a regret that* she had given her weird to Mrs 
Meyfibk not to use any concealment about' him. 
The regret at last urged her, at least, to try 0,nd 
hinder any sodden betrayal that'woiild cQ;use her 
brother an unnecessary- sh-oc^. ' Undei* the pres- 
sure of this.motive, she resolved to turn before she 
reached her own door, and firmly will the encounter 
instead o£ merely submitting to It. She had kbeady 
reached the enttunce of the small square wh^re her 
home lay, ai^d had made up her mind to turia, when 
she felt her' embodied preseniiment getting closei* 
to her, then ^slipping to her side,' gragping ihej: 
wrist, and saying, with a persuasive corl of acoew^, 
^^Mirah!" ■ ': 

She paused at onbe without any stslrt ; ili was the 
voioe she expected, and she was meetihgthe ex- 
pected eyes. Her face was as gtaye as if shfe 
had been looking at her exeouticmer, while -his 
was adjusted, to the intention of Soothih^ and 
p'opitiating her. Once a handsome fabe, with 
bright colour, it was nbv sallow and deep -lined, 



SI 2 DA^IBL DERONDA. i 

and had that peculiai" .impress of impudent suavity 
which oomes from cotirting faVduir while accepting 
disrespect* • He \i^as lightly made and active, with 
sdmlething of youth aboilt him which made the signs 
of age seem a disguise ; and in reality he was hardly 
fifty-seven. His diie&s wasfehabby, ais when she had 
seen him 'before* > The presence of this tinreve^end 
father now, more than ever, affected Mirah with the 
mingled anguish of shame and grie^ repulsion and 
pity-— more than ever, now that her own World waa 
changed ixM one where there was no comradeship 
to fenc6 him fk)m scpm and oooitemptk 
... Slowly; with a sad, tremulous voice, she said, "It 
is you, father*" ' » 

;" Why. did you rim 'away from m«, child?" he 
Joegan, with, rapid spei&ch which was meant to 
'h£ive a i^neiOf tehdet remonstrance, accompanied 
with various, iquick gestures . like i an abbreviated 
fiiUger-laugUage. " What were you afraid of ? you 
knlew I never made you do . anything against your 
wilL It was for; your sake I broke Up your engage- 
ment in the Yorstadt, because I saw it didn't suit 
yob, and you rep^d mfe by leaving me to the bad 
times that came in consequence. . I had made an 
easier engagement for you at the Vorstadt Theatre 
in Dresden: I didn't tell you, because I wanted to 
take you by surprise. .lAikd j6n left me planted 
thjere — obliged to make myself scarce because I 
hfijd broken oomtraot* That was hard lines for me, 
after I tiad given up ^everything for the sake of get- 
ting you: an edu0£^tioti which was to be a fortune to 
you* What father devoted himsjelf to his daughter 



BOOK Viri.-^FEUIT AND SEED. 513 

more than- 1 did to you ? Yon knoTv^ how I bore tfcat 
disappointment in your voice, and made the- best' of 
it ; and Vhen I had nobody besides you, and was 
getting bro'ken, as a man must who has had' to fight, 
his ^wtey with his brains*— yon' ichose tfcat time' to 
leave me. Who else was it you owed everything: 
to, if not to iaeP i and where was your feeling in 
return? For what my daughter f cared, I might 
have died in a ditdi." . • ' f 

Lapidoth stoppi^d short here, u6t from lack of 
invention, but because he had reached a pathetic 
climax, and gave a sudden sob,- like ■ a .w6man*s, 
taking oxiit hastily an old yellow silk handkerchiefei 
He really fehi that his daughter had treated Ibim 
ill— a sort of BeAsibility which i» naturally: strbag 
in unsorupujlotis pep8on:8, . who p^t dowaa what .is 
owing to them, without any per contt^A. . Mibrali, 
in spite of| that sob, had energy enough not toilet 
him suppose thert he deceived her. She answered 
more finaaly, though i% Was the first '.time shej hadf 
ever used apDusipg words to. hito.,. , ' 

,," Ypu know ;Why I left you, father; and, I had 
reaspn to difitrust yoti, because 'I felt sure that 
you had deceived my mother. If I oould haVd 
trusted you, I would , have- stayed with you and 
worked for you." 

"I never meant to deceive your mother, Mirah," 
said Lapidotl^, pitting back his handkewhief, btil 
beginning with a voic!^ that sejsmed to struggle; 
against further sobbing, < " I . naeant tcf take . you 
back to herjibvt chances hindeiced me juat ^t tb€( 
time, an(J thep, there caipe infoi^'mation of her death* 



514. . , DANIEL DERONDA: 

It was better for you that. I should stay where I was, 
and your brother could take care, of himself. No- 
body had any claim on me but you. i I had Word of 
your mother's ; death from, a particular friend, who 
had undertaklen to imaiQage things for imcy and I sent 
him over nloney to pay expenses. There's one 
chance, to be sure " — Lapidoth had quickly con- 
ceived that he must guard against sordething un- 
likely, yet possible — "he may have ' written nae 
lies for the sake of getting the money out of 
me. ; 

. . Mirah made no, answer ; she could riot bear to 
litter the only true one — "I don't beilieve one 
word of what y6u say" — and she simply showed 
a wish that they should walk oilj feeling that their 
standing still might draw down nnpleafeant notice. 
Even' as they walked a^long, • 'their companionship 
mighD well have made a pasW-by turn back to 
look at them. The figure of Mirah, with her 
beauty Bet off by the quiet, careful" dresd of an 
English lady, made a strstnge j>eridant to this 
ihabby, foreign - looking^ eager, and gesticulating 
ihan, who withal had ah ineffaceable j^untiness 
of air,' perhaps 'due to the bushy curls of his 
grizzled hair, the smallness of'his hands and feet, 
and his light walk. 

" Yoii seem to have done well for yourself, Mirah? 
You are in no want, I see,'* said the father, looking 
at her with 'emphatic examination. 

• *^ Good friends who found ' me in ' distress have 
helped m e i to get work, '* said Mirah, ' hardly know- 
ing what' ^ she aotaaliy said; from being occupied 



BOOK VIIJ,-r^PJtUIT AND SEED. 615 

with what she would * presently have fo 'ssiy. "1 
give lessons. I have sung in private houses. I 
have just been singing at a private concert.". She 
paused, and then a<lded, with signifiTcance, " I have 
very good friends, who know; all about me.''' 

" And you would be ashamed they -should, isee 
youi: father in this plight? No.iwondear* I catoe 
to pngland with no proflpect, ibiit iihe dhance of 
finding you. It was a inad quest; but. a father's 
heart is superstitious — feels a ' loadstdme- drawibg 
it somewhet^ or: other. I knight have ddne very 
well, staying abroad : .when I .hadn't youi! to itak© 
care of, I could have rolled or settled as eaisily as 
a ball; but it's hard being lobely in the world, 
when your spirit's beginning^ to -break. And I 
thought my little Miaab iwould reipent leaving her 
father, when she c^me to look back. ' I've . had a 
sharp pinch "to work my way ; I don't know what 
I sbaU come down to next. Talents like mine ■ arej 
no usje in this oouniary. When a man's ■ getting out 
at elbows nobody will believe in hiip. I couldn't; 
get any decent employ with my appeamne^. ■ Vve 
been obliged to goi pretty low for a shilling already." 

Mirah's anxiety was quick enbugh to iiiilagineher 
father's sinking into a faiiiher degradation, which 
she was bohnd to hinder if she could : But before 
shd could answer his string of inventivd sentences^ 
delivered with as much glibness as if they had beeA 
learned by rote, he added promptly — - 

'* Wliere do you live, Mirah? " 

" Here, in this square^ We are n&i far from the 
house." ••; ... 



616 - DANIEL MRONtJAi 

"In lodgings?'* : . / 

"Yes." 

^ Any one to take care of you ? " 
/'^ Yds/' said Mirah again, looking full at the keen 
face which was turned towards hers—--" iny brother:'^ 

The' father*® eyelids, fluttered as if l^e, lightning 
hawi Gome aicross them, and there tiias a slight move- 
m*ent of the shoulders. But he said, after a just per- 
ceptible pause :- " Ezra ? < How did you know — how 
did you find him?" - 

"That' would take long to ^ell. Heref we are 
at the doon My brother /would not wish me to 
close it on you." 

: iMirah ivas already on- the! door* step, but had her 
fece turned towbrds herftith^rj who srtood below her 
on : the pavement. Her .helarfc had begun to beat 
faster with the prospect of what was coming in the 
presence of Ezra ;^ and already in this' attitude of 
giving' leave to the father whom she had been used 
to obey — in this sight of him standing below her, 
with a perceptible" shrinking from the admission 
which het.had been indirectly asking for, she had a 
pang -of the peculiary sympaithetic humiliation and 
fthamer— rthe stabbed heirt of reverence— which be- 
Ibnga to a nature intensely filial. 
•"'"Stay a; mitiute, Ldebc^en^'^ said Lapidotih, speak- 
ing, in a lowered tdne; ^'what aort of man has 
Ezra turned, oitt?'' 

" A good man — a wondei^hl man," said Mirah, 
with slow emphasis, trying to niaster lihe agitation 
which made her voice liiore trepaulotiB as she went 
on. She felt urged to prepare her father for the 



BOOK VIII. BRUIT: AND SEED. 517 

compL^te pen^tcation of himself which awaited him. 
" But he was very poor when my'ftiends foond him 
for me— a po(H? workman. . Once-^*-twelve yeiaarB ago 
— ^he was strong nand happy, going to the East, 
which he loved to think of ; and my mother, called 
him back becatise^r- because she ' had' lost tnev: And 
he went to her, and took care of heu • through great 
trouble, and worked for hear till she died**- died in 
grief. And Ezra, too, had lost his health • and 
strength. The cold had seized ^irnxonung ba6k td 
my mother, because she was forse£ken« Eor years 
he hsfi been getting weaker — always poor, always 
working— but full of knbwledge, and great^minded; 
All who come' near him honour him. To stand 
before him, is like standing before a prophet of 
God " — Mirah ended with difficulty, her heart throbs 
bhlg — " falsehoods a*re no use." ' . ' 

She had cast down her eyes that she might not 
seel, her father i while she iapofc* the last (words-4 
unable to bear the ignoble look of fi-ustratioaoi that 
gathered inijhis faocbi Jiutihe was^ none: the less 
quick in invention and decision. ; : 

^^ Mirah, • Ltiebehm" he said, in the old r caressing 
way, " shouldn't you like me to make myself a little 
more respectable before my son sees. me? J£ I had 
a little sum of moo^y, I could £t myself out and 
come home to you as your father ought, and then I 
cduld offer . myself for some decent place. With a 
good shirt and coat oh my back, people would be 
glad enough to have me. I could offer myself for al 
courier, if I didn't look like a broken-down mounte- 
bank» I should like to be with my children^ and 



518 ^\ • DANIEL DBRONDA. . -^ 

forget ftnd forgive. But you have never seen your 
father lottk like this before. If yoTi had ten pounds 
at hand ^-^- or I oould appoint you to bring it me 
somewhere-^I could fit myself out by the day after 
to-morrow**' . 

Mirah felt herself under a temptation which she 
must try . to overcome. She answered, obliging 
l^rfielf to 'look at him again — ' 

" I don't like to deny you what, you ask, father ; 
btit I have given a promise not to do things for you 
inj^ecret.. It whard to see you looking needy ; but 
we will .bear that for a little while ; and then you 
dani.have new clothes, and. we can pay for them." 
Her I practical sense made iher see now- what was 
Mrs Meyrick's wisdom in exacting a promise from 
her;, I' i . ' -r' 

Lapidoth's good humour gave way a little. He 
said with a sheer, " You are a hard and fast' young 
lady-rr.you*ve been learning useful virtues— keeping 
promiaes not to help your father with a pound or 
two when you arc 'getting money to 'dress yourself 
in silk — your father who made an idol of youy and 
gave- up the best port of his life to providing for 
you." ; 

! ^* It teems cruel — I know it seems cn;el," said 
Mirah, feeling this a worse moment than when she 
meant to drown herselE Her lips were suddenly 
pale. "But, fether, it is more, oruel to break the 
proikiises people tinist in. That broke my mother's 
heart — it has broken Ezra's life. You and I must 
eat now this bitterness from what has been. Bear 
it. Bear to come in. and be cared for as yon are," 



BOOK VIII. ^FRUIT AND. SEED. 619 

"To-morrow, then," said Lapidoth, almost turn- 
ing on his heel away from, this pale, trembling' 
daughter, who «eemed now to have got the incoib, 
vetiient world to back her; but he quiokly turned 
aa it again, with his hands feeling about restlessly 
in his pockets, and said, with some return to hi6 
appealing tone, " Tm a little cut up with all this, 
Mirah. .1 shall get up my spirits bjr to-morrow- 
K- youVe a little money in your pocket, I sui^pobe 
it isb't agiainst your promise to give me a trifle—r 
to buy a cigar with." 

.Mirah could not a^ herself another question — 
oould not do anything else than put her cold trem- 
bling hands in her pockiet for her portemormaie and 
hold it out,. . Lapidoth grasped it at once, pressed 
her fingers, the while, said, "Qood-bye, my little 
girl — to-morrpw then!" and left her. He had not 
taken many steps before he looked carefully into all 
the folds of the purse, found, two half-sovereigns 
and odd -silver, and, • pasted against the folding 
cover, a bit of paper on which Ezra l^d inscriibecl,' 
in a beautiful Hebrew character, the name ,of his 
mother, the -days of her biith, marriage, and dearth, 
and .the prayer, "May Mirah be d^liyered frpm 
evil." . It was Mirah's liking to h^ve this little 
inscription on many articles that sl^e used. . Th^ 
father read it, and had a quick viaioi^ of hi^,piar- 
riage day, and the bright, un]blamed young, fellow he 
was-iofi that time; teaching many things, but ^jXpect+ 
ing by-and-by to get money more easily by writing ; 
aad very fond of his beautiful bride Sara- — crying 
when she expjBcted him to cry, and reflecting every 



520 DANIEL BERONDA. 

phase of her feeling with mimetic snflceptibility. 
Lapldoth' had 'travelled a long way froral that young 
self, and thought of all that this insoription signi- 
fied with an unemotional memory, 'vK'^hich was like 
the ocular perception of a touch to one who has lofft 
the sense of touch, or like niorsels on an untasting 
palate, having shape clnd grain, but no flavoTjr. 
Among the things we njay gamble away in a lazy 
selfish life is the capacity for ruth, compunction, or 
any unselfish regret-^ which we may oottio to long 
for as one in slow death longs to feel laceration, 
rather' than be conscious' 6i •a widening margin 
where consciousness once was. Miiuh's purse- was 
a handsome^ one— a gift to hler, which she had been 
unable to reflect about giving away— and Lapidoth 
presently found himsfelf outside of his reveiiie, con- 
liidering what the purse would fetch- in addition to 
the sum it contained, and what" prospect there was 
of his being able to get more from his daughter 
without submitting to adopt a penitential' form of 
life under the eyes of that formidable sc^. On 
such a BUbject his susceptibilities were still lively. 
^ M^anwhilo Mirah had ehtfet^d the house with her 
pd^er of reticence Overcome" by the cmelty of her 
pain. 'She found her brother qiifetly 'reading and 
sifting old manuscripts of his own, which he meant 
to' consign ' to Deronda. In the reaction from the 
long effbrt to master herself, slie fell down before 
him and cldsped his knees, sobbing, and crying, 
»^ Ezra; "Ezra l'" • " 

He did not speak. His alarm' for Jier was spend- 
ing itself oh conceiving the cause of her distress, 



BOOK VIII. FKUrr AND SEED. 621 

the more striking from the novelty in her of this 
violent manifestation. But Mirah^s own longing 
was to 'be able to speak and tell him the cause. 
Presently she raised her hand, and istill sobbing, 
said brokenly — 

" Ezra, my fiither I onr father 1 He followed me. 
I wanted him to come in. I said you would let him 
come in. And he said No, he would not — not now, 
but to-morrow. And he begged for money from me. 
And I gave him my purse, and he went away." 

Mirah's words seemed to herself to express all the 
misery she felt in them. Her brother found them 
less grievous than his preconceptions, and said 
gently, "Wait for calm, Mirah, and then tell me 
all," — -putting oiF her hat and laying his hands 
tenderly on her head. She f&lt the soothing in- 
fluence, and in a few minutes told him as exactly 
as she could all that had happened. 

"He will not come to-morrow," said Mordecai. 
Neither of them said to the other what they both 
thought, namely, that he might watch for Mirah's 
outgoings and beg from her again. 

"Seest thou," he presently added, "our lot is 
the lot of Israel. The grief and the glory are 
mingled as the smoke and the flame. It is because 
we children have inherited the good that we feel 
the eviL These things are wedded for us, as our 
father was wedded to our mother." 

The surroundings were of Brompt^n, but the 
voice might have come fit)m a Kabbi transmitting 
the sentences of an elder time to be registered in 
BMi — by which (to our ears) affectionate-sounding 



522 ' DANIEL JDERONDA. 

diminutive is meant the voluminoiiB Babylonian 
Talmud. "The Omnipnesent/' said a Rabbi, "is 
occupied in .making marriages." The levity of the 
saying lies in the ear of him who hears lit; fot 
by marriages the speaker meant all the wondrous 
combinations df the liniveirse whosd issue makes 
our good and eviL i ' . 



I..- 



523 



chaptee Lxm. 



"Moses, trotz seiner Befeindung der Kunst, (Jennoch selber ein grosser 
Kiinfttler war nnd den wahren Ktin^tlergeist "besass. Isur wat dieser 
KfinslfleigeiBt .b^i ihm, wie hex sa^nen agyptisclie^ Iiandsleuten^.fiur ajuf 
das Colossale und Unverwiistliche gerichtet. Aber nicht wie die Aegypter 
i(>rmirte4r'8eilie Knnst^erke aus Baekstein mid Gr^init, sondern er baute 
Menschenpyramiden, er meisselte Menschen Obelisken, er nahni einen 
airmen Hirtenslamm nnd Schuf daraus ein Volk, das ebenfalls den Jahr- 
bundertentroteenaollte ... . eT&ch\xtlaxati:"—Bxa(EV.Gtsta'adnisH4 



Imagine the i difference in . Heronda^s state of mind 
wbenike left Eugland and^^hjen ke returned to it 
He; had set out for Genoa in total uncertainty How 
far • the 1 actual bent of hii^ wishes aood. aiiaetioiis 
would be encduraged— how; far" the claims ^ re veafled 
to hiin migfeit dmw him into new ,platha, for away 
from the tracks his thoughts. had lately been. .pur- 
suing with a consent of desire which uncert^nty 
made dangerous. He came back with someithin^ 
hke a discovered charter .warranting the inherited 
right, that his ambition .h$4 begun, to yearn for,: 
he camiB :back with what was better then freedom 
--rwith a duteous bond which his experience had 
been preparing him to accept : gladly, even if it 
bad beeo attended . with no .pronaise of satisfying 
a iaecret passiemate longing neveiryet allowed t0 



524 DANIEL DERONDA. 

grow into a hope. But now he dared avow to 
himself the hidden selection of his love. Since 
the hour when he left the house at Chelsea in fiill- 
hearted silence under the eflFect of Mirah's farewell 
look and words — their exquisite appealingness stir- 
ring in him that deeply -laid care for womanhood 
wliich had begun when his own lip was like a 
girFs — her hold on his feeling had helped him to 
be blameless in word and deed under the difl&cult 
circumstances we know of. There seemed no likeli- 
hood that he could ever woo this creature who had 
become dear to him amidst associations that forbade 
wooing ; yet she liad taken her place in his soul 
as a beloved type — reducing the power bf other 
fascination and making a difference in it that be- 
came deficiency. The influence had been contin- 
ually strengthened. It. had lain iii the cottree of 
poor Gwendolen's lot that her dependence on Der- 
onda tended to rouse : in him the enthtislasm of 
self- taarty ring pity rathieir than of personal love, 
and his less constrained tenderness flowed with the 
foUer Btreani' towards 8(n indwelling ittiage in' all 
thiqgs unlike Gwendolen. Still more, his relation 
to -Mordecai had brought with it a new nearness 
to Mirah which was not the less agitating because 
there was no apparent change in his position to- 
wards her ; and she had inevitably been bound up 
in all the thoughts that made him shrink from an 
issue disappointing to her brother. This process 
had not gone on unconsciously in Deronda : he was 
conscious of it a& we are of some oovetousness that 
it would be better to nullify by encouraging other 



BOOK Vm. — mmt AND SEED. 52^5 

thoTiglits tha^ to give it the insistency of coirfeg- 
sion even to orffselves : but the jealous fire haid 
leaped otit^ at Hans's pretensions, and irhen his 
mother accused. him of being in love 'Vdth a Jew- 
ess, any evasion suddenly seemed an infidelity j 
His mother had compelled hitn to a deoi&ive acj 
knowledgment of his lov^, As Jbseph KalonytadfS 
had compelled him to a definite expressibn of his 
resolve. This new state of decision wrought Oil 
Deronda with • A force which surprised even him- 
self. There was a release of all the ener^ which 
had long been sjpcojii in self-oheicking and suppres- 
sion- because of ddubtful condition^'; and he Was 
ready to laugh at his owii impettiositywhen, as he 
neared England' on his way ftbm Maina, he felt the 
remaining distance moreaad more of an ofcstructidn. 
II wias as if he hlad found an added soul in finding 
his ancestry -^htfe judgment no longer wandering 
in the mazes of impartial 'sympathy, but choosing, 
with that noble partiality which is maai's best 
strength, the closer fellownhip that makis sym- 
pathy pra6tical — exchanging that bird's-eye reasoh- 
ableness which soars to avoid "preference and loses 
all sense of quality, for the generoud reasondtblenettb 
of drawing Bh<^ulder to shoulder with men 6f like 
inheritance. He wanted liovr to be 'again with 
Mbrdeoai, to pour forth instead of restraining hite 
feeling,' to admit agreement and maintain disiaenf, 
and all the while to find Mirah's presence without 
the embiarrassment of obviously seeking it, to sefe 
her in the light of a new possibi-iity, to interpr^et 
her looks and' w-ordft from a new starting-point. He 



S^Q; DANIEL DBRONDA. . 

was. not greatly alarmed about the eflfect.of Hans's 
iittentiODs, but he had a preseutim^it that her feel- 
ing tow^rdB himself had iroiii the ficst lain in a 
channel j&*oai which it was not likely to be diverted 
into love. .To astonish a woman by, turning into 
her lover when she has been thinking of you merely 
as a Lord Ghanoelloif is what a man niaturally 
shrinks from : he is anxious to . create an easier 
transition. ; ' : . 

.. What, wonder that Deronda saw no. other course 
thaDi to go straight from the London railway station 
to the lodjgings in that small square in Brompton*? 
Every argument was in. favour of his losing no time. 
Hje had promised to run down, the next day to see 
Lady Mallinger at the Abbey, and it Was already 
sunset. He wished to deposit the precious chest 
with Moydecai, who would study its contents, both 
in his absence and in company with him ; and that 
he should pay this visit without pause would gratify 
Mordecai's heart, Hence, and for other reasons, it 
gratified Deronda^s heart. The strongest tendencies 
gf his nature were rushing in one current — the fer- 
vent affectiopateness which made him delight iu 
;n)/^eting. the wish of bein^ near to him, and the 
imaginative need of some far-reaching relation to 
n^B^e ; the horizon of his impiediate, daily acts. It 
l^^s to be admitted that. in this classical, romantic, 
wprld -historic position of his, bringing as it were 
firom its hiding - place hi$ hereditary armour, he 
wore — but so, one must -suppose, did the most 
ancient heroes whether Semitic or Japhetic— the 
Bummer cQstupie of his conteoiporaries. He did not 



BOOK Vm,-— KRUIT. AND SEED. 

reflect that the drab tints were beooming to himj^. for 
he rarely went to thie expense, of sdch thinking-, 
but his own depth of colonring, which made -the- 
becomingn^ss, got eaa added .radiance in the. eyes,' 
a fleeting* and returning glow in the skin, as he- 
enter,ed the house, wondering what ^eijaotly her 
should find. He made his entrance as noiseless 
as possible. •< 

It was the evening of that safne afternoon on 
which Mirah had had the interview, with her fathen 
Mordecai, penetrated by. her grijef, and also by the 
sad memories which the incident hetd awakeii^d, 
had not resumed his task of sifting jiapers : some, 
of them had fallen scattered oii the . floor I in the 
first moments of anxiety, and • neither he nor Mirah 
had thought of laying them in order, again. They 
had sat perfectly still : .together^ not knowing how 
long; while the^ clock ticked on the mantelpiece, 
and the light was fading. Mirah, unabEe tb think 
of the food that she ought to have been • takilig, had 
not moved since she had thrown off bier dust-cloak 
and sat down beside Mordecai with her hand in his,' 
w^hile he had Ikid his head backward, with cldsed 
eyes and difficult bi;eathing, looking, Mirah thoughty 
as he would look when the soul within him^^could* 
no longer live iii its straitened hoime. ' The thotigh€ 
that his death might be near was continiially visit- 
ing her when she saw his face in this way, without 
its vivid animation ^ • and now, to the ', rest of her 
grief was added the regret that she had been unable 
to control the violent outburst which had shaken Ihim. 
She sat watching him- — her oval cheeks pallid, 'her 



528 DANIEL DBRONDA. 

eyfeS' with the sorrowful brilliancy le^ by young 
tears, her curls in as much disorder as a jyst-^wak- 
enied child's-— watching that emaciated • face, where 
it might have been imagined that a veil had been 
drawn never to be lifted, as if it were her dead joy 
which had lefb her strong enough to live bn in sor- 
row. And life at that moment stretched biifore 
Mirah with more than a repetition of former sad- 
ness. The shadow of the fother was there, and 
more than that, a double bereavement — of one 
iiving as well as one dead. 

But now the dooi- was opened, and while none 
entered, aT^ell-known voice said: "Datiiel Deronda 
-—may he come in ? " 

"Come! come!" said Mordecai, immediately ris- 
ing ^th an irradiated face and opened eyeu-^appa- 
rently as Kttle surprised as if he had seen, Deronda 
in the morning, and expected this- evening visit ; 
while Mirah started up blushing with coiifused, half- 
alarmed expectation. 

Yet when Deronda entered, the eight of him was 
like the clearness after rain : no clouds to come 
could hinder the cherishing beam of that moment. 
As he held out his ri^ht hand -jto Mirah, who was 
dlose to her brother's left, h© laid his other hand on 
Mordecai's right ahioiulder, and stood so a moment, 
holding them both:. at cmce, tittering no word, but 
reading their faces, till he said anxiously to Mirah^ 
"Has anything happened?^ — any trouble?" 

" Talk not of trouble now," said Mordecai, saving 
her from the need to answer. "There is joy in 
yoiir face — ^leit the joy be ours." 



BOOK VIII. FRUIT AND SEED. 529 

Miraji ' thoTight, ",It is for something: hfe cannot 
teU ufi." , But they ail &at doTYH; Deronda drawing 
a chair close in front of Mordecai. . ; . 

"That is true," hei said, em{)h$,ticaUy. . "I have 
* joy which will remain, to us eyen in the worst 
trouble.. I did not tell, yqu the reason. of my jc^ur- 
ney abroad, Mordecai,- because — never mind— tl Went 
tp leara my parentage. An^l you were- right. • I ajSn 
aJiew." (. 

The two men clasped halads with a movement 
that, seemed part of the flash from Mordecai's eyes, 
and passed tl^tough Mirah like an electric shock. 
But Deronda W6ut on .without pause, speaking froim 
Mordecars mind as much a^ from his own — c 

" Wq havQ the same people. .Our soute havet the 
same vopatjon. We shall nbt be separiated by life 
or by death.", 

Mordecai's answer was lettered in Hebrew, and in 
np more : tlian a loud whispi^r^ It was in the lituJr- 
gical words which express the. religious bond : " Our 
God, and Ijhe God of our fathers." . . 

The weight of feeling pressed too strongly on 
that ready-winged speech which usually moved in 
qtiiok adi^ptatioa to evety stirring of his iervoUr. 

Mirah fell pn her knees by hser brother^s side, and 
looked at his now illuminated ftwoe, which, had just 
before beien so deat^hly. The action was an inevit- 
able outlet; of the violent reversal frons^, despondency 
to a gladness which came over her as solemnly as 
if she had been beholding a religious rite. For the 
moment she tlipught of , the effect on. her own life 
only through the effect on her brother 



530 DANIEL DERONDA. 

" And it is not only that I' am a Jew," Deronda 
went on, enjoying one of those rare moments when 
our yearnings and our acts can tie completely one, 
and the reail we behold is out ideal good; "but I 
come of a strain that has ardently maintained the 
fellQWship of our race — a line of Spanish Jews that 
has borne many students and men of practical power. 
And I possess what will give us a sort of communion 
with them. My grandfather, Daniel Charisi, pre- 
Berved manuscripts, ferfiiily records stretching far 
back, In the hope that they would pass into the 
hands of his grandson. And now his hope is ^1- 
filled, in spite of attempts to th'wart it by hiding 
my parentage from me. • I possess the chest con- 
taining them, with his own papers, and it is down 
below in this bouse. I' -mean to leave it with you, 
Mordecai, that you may help me to study the mann- 
flcripts. Some of them I can read easily enough — 
those in Spanish and Italian. Others are in Hebrew, 
ancid, I think, Arabic ; but there seem to be Latin 
translations. I was only able to look* at them cur- 
sorily while I stayed < at Mainz. We will study 
dhein together." 

•Deronda ended with that bright snrile which, 
ibeamihg out 'from the habitual gravity of his face, 
^epaed ■ a revelatioii (the reverse of the continual 
smile that discredits all expression). But when 
this happy giAnce passed from Mordecai to rest on 
Mir0,h^ it acted like a little too much sunshine, and 
made her change hei* attitude. She had knelt under 
an impulse With which any personal embarrassment 
was incongruous, and especially any thoughts about 



BOOK Vin. — FRUlTi AND SEED. 531 

how Mrs GrrandcOTirt might .stand to this new'aspebt 
of things — thonghts • which made her colour* tmdei 
Deronda's ghmce^ and rise to take her seat again 
in her usual posture of crossed hands and feet^ with 
the effort to loc^ as quiet as possible. ' Deronda; 
equally sensitive, imagined that the feeling of which 
he was conscious, had entered too much' into his 
eyes, and had been ' riepugnant to her. H© was 
ready enough to beliere that any unexpe<5t.ed mani- 
festation mighJb spoil her feeling towards him — and 
then his precious relation to brother and sister would 
be marred. If Mirah could have no love for him, 
any advances of love on his part would makfe her 
wretched in that continual contact with him which 
would remain inevitable. 

While such feelings were pulsating quibMy in 
Deronda and Mirah, Mordeca!, seeing nothing in 
his friend's presence and wbrds but a blessed fiilfiU 
ment, was already speaking with his old sense of 
enlargemenii in utterance^^ — 

"Daniel, from the first, I have said to you, we 
know not all the pathways. Has there not been a 
meeting among them, as of the operations in one 
soul, where an idea being born and breathing draws 
the elements towards it, and is fed and grows ? Pot 
all things are bound together hi that Omnipresence 
which is the place and habitettion of the world, and 
events are as a glass where-Hn-ough our eyes see 
some of the jbathways. And if it seenasithat the 
erring and unloving wills of: men Have hielped to 
prepare you, as Moses wa» prepared, to 'scare your 
people the better, that depends on ■anrither order 



532 DANIEL DBRONDAl 

tha43L the law which .must gmide (mr.ifootsteps. For 
the evil will of iman makes not a people's good ex- 
oept. by stirriiig the righteofos will ■ df. man ^ and 
beneath all . the olonds with whiob ^ dur thought 
eiioompasseS' the Etesmal, . : this is clears — ithat a 
jjeople can; be biassed ! only. . by halving counsellors 
and a multitude whose will inov.es in obediencje 
t05 the laws .of justice and love.- For feiee, now, 
it 1 was your loving will that '. made a chief path- 
way, arid riesisted the effect' of evil; for, by.. per- 
forming the duties of brotherhood to my sister, 
and seeking out her brother in the flesh, your soul 
has been prepared to receive with, gladness this 
message of the Eternal : * behold the multitude of 
your brethren.'" 

, "It is quite fferU© that you and Mirah have been 
my teachers," said DerOnda. ;*;*If thlsr reVelation 
had been ntiade to rde before I . knew, f you. ; both, I 
think my mind would have, rebelled against it. 
Perhaps I should have felt then^--t^ If I could' have 
chosen, 'I would not have been aJew^' What I feel 
now is^that my whole bein^ is a consent to ,the 
fact. But it hap been the gradual accord between 
your 'mind and mine which has brought abbut that 
full consent.'' ■-, 

At the moment Deronda was speaking, that first 
evening in the book^shop wa$ vividljt in hisTeimem- 
brance, with all the struggling aloofness, he had then 
felt frotm Mordecai's .'prdphetic confidence. It was 
his inatw?^ to delight in satisfying to the iiitmost the 
esagerly-expectant soul^ which seemed to be looking 
out from ! the face before him, like the longhenduring 



BOOK Vm. FBUIT AND SEED. 533 

watcher who at last seeB the motinting signal-flame •, 
and he went on with fuller fervour — - 

"It is through your inBpiratiT>n that I have diflk 
cemed what may be my life's task. It is you who 
}iav« given «hapb to what, I believe, was an in- 
he&rited yearning: — the effect of brooding, passionate 
thoughts in many ancestors- — thoughts that seem 
to have been intensely present in my grandfatheri 
Siippose the stolen offspring of some mountain triibe f 
brought up in a city of the plain, or one with an 
inherited genius for painting, and born blind-*— the 
aoicestral life would lie within them as a dim, long-: 
in^ for unknown objects and sensations, and the 
spellbound habit of their inherited frames woiuld be 
like a cunningly-wrought musical instrument^ laever 
played on, but. quivering throughout in uneasy mysi- 
terious moanings of its intricate structure that, under 
the right touch, gives music. Something like that, 
I thijik, has, been my experience. Siiice I began to 
re^d and fcnowj I have always longed for some ideal 
task, in which I might feel myself the heart and 
brain of a multitude — some social captainship, which 
would conte to me as a duty, and not be striven for 
as a personal prize. You have raised the image of 
such a t^,sk for me — to bind our race together in 
spite of heresy. You have said. to me — * Our reli- 
gion united us before it divided us — it made us a 
people before it made Eabbanites and Kartiites.' I 
mean to try what can be done with thftt union-^I 
mean to work in your spirit. Failure ^ill not be 
ignoble, but it would be ignoble for me not to tryi.i" 

"Even as my brother that fed at the breasts of 



534 DANIEL DERONDA. 

my mother," said Mordeoai, falling back in his chair 
with a look of exultant repose j as after some finished 
labour. ' 

Toi estimate the effect of this ardent outpouring 
fiKDm Deronda we must remember his former reserve^ 
his oorefal aroidance of prematlire assent or delu- 
sive encouragement, which gave to this decided 
pledge; of himself a sacramental solemnity, both 
ft* his own mind and Mordeoai's. On Mirah the 
effect was equally strong, though with a difference : 
she felt a surprise which had no place in her brother's 
mind, at Deronda's suddenly revealed sense of near- 
ness to them : there seemed to be a breaking of day 
arotind'her which might show her othett facts unlike 
her forebodings in the darkness. But after a mo- 
ment's silence Mordecai ispoke again : '< 

*f It has* begun already — the marriage of our souls, 
li waits but the passing away of this body, and then 
they whto are betrothed shall unite in a stricter bond, 
and what is mine shall be thine. Call nothing mine 
that I have written, Daniel ; for though our Masters 
delivered rightly that everything should be quoted iii 
the name of him that said it— and their rule is good 
-—yet it does not exclude the willing marriage which 
melts soul into soul, and makes thought fuller as the 
clear waters are made fiiUer, where the fulnefts is 
inseparable and the clearness is inseparable. For I 
have judged what I have written, and I desire the 
body that '■ I gate my thought to pass away ad this 
fleshly body will pass ; but let the thought be bom 
again from oufr fuller soul which shall be called 
yours." ' 



BOOK VIII. FRUIT AND SEED. 535 

" You must not ask me to promise that," said Ber* 
onda, smiling. "I imust be iConvinoeid first of special 
reasons for it in the writings tkenSaelves, And I am 
too back waird, a, pupil yet. That blent trainsmisdon 
must go on without any choice of ours'; but what 
we caa't hinder must nioit make our rule. for what we 
ought to choose- I think oiir duty is faithful iferadi- 
tion where we can attain it. f Ajad so you would 
insist. for any oab but yourself.; I)on!t ask me to 
deny iny spiritual parentage, when I am finding the 
clue of my life in the recognition of my) nattiral 
parentage." j '. < ' 

" I will aslr for no promise till ybu see the reason/' 
said Mordecai. " You have said the itruth :I would 
ob^y the Masters' rule for another. But for J^ears 
my hope, nay, my confidence, i ha^ . been, mot that 
the imperfect image of my thought^ which is as the 
illrshapen.worfc;of the yoiaitbfiil carver who hits seen 
a. heavenly .pattern, and tcemhtes i in. imitating ihe 
vision — not thg^t this should livBj but that my vision 
and passion should enter into yours — yeay»into yours; 
for he. whom I longed for afary-iwas he not you whoim 
I discerned as 'mine when you came . near r^ Never- 
theless, you shall judges For^aaly soul is satisfied'-' 
Mordecai paused, and then began in a ^i^han'ged tonis, 
reverting to previous suggestions fi:om Deronda's dis- 
closure :' " What moved your parents-^^ — ^?" but he 
immediately checked himself, and added,! r" Nay, I 
ask not that you should tell me aught ooaiceming 
others, unless it is your pleasure." ; '■ 

" Some time— gradually — ryou Will know all," sai^ 
Deronda. " But how tell me more about yourselvefe, 



536 DANIEL DERONDA. 

and bow the time has passed since I went away. I 
biux sure there has been some . trouble. Mirah haa 
been in distress about something." ' 
I He looked at' Mirah, but she immediately tutned 
to her brother, appealing to him to give the difficfult 
answer. She hoped he would not think it necessary 
to tell Deronda the facts about her father on suoh 
an evening ae this. Just when Deronda had brought 
himself so near, and identified himself with her 
brother, it was cutting to her that he should heaj 
of this disgrace cliTiging about them, which seemed 
to have become partly his. To relieve herself she 
rose to take up her hat and cloak, thinking she 
would go to her own room : perhaps they would 
-speak more easily when she had- left them. But 
meanwhile Mordooai said — 

" To-day there has been a grief* A duty which 
seemed to have gone far into tlie distance, has come 
back and turned its face upon us, and raised no 
gladness — has raised a dread that We must submit 
to. Buti for the moment we are delivered from any 
visible yoke. Let us defer speaking of it, as if 
thifl evening which is deepening about us were thje 
beginning of the festival in which we must offer 
the first-fruits of our jo^, and mingle no inoumin^ 
with them.'* 

Deronda divined the hinted grief, and left it in 
silenoe, rising as he saw Mirah rise, and saying to 
her, ''Are you going? I must leave almost imme- 
diately — when r and Mrs Adam have mounted ithe 
precious chest, and I have delivered the key to Mor- 
decai— ^no, Ezra, — -may I call him Ezra now? I 



BOOK VIIL ^FBUIT AND SEED. 537 

have l«aFziied to think of him Cib Ezra since I h&ve 
heard you call him eo." 

^^ Please oaliihim Ezra/^ said Mirah^ faintly, feeling 
a new timidity under Deronda*s glance and near pre- 
sence. Wa6 there really something ' different about 
him, or was the difference only in her feeling? The 
strangely various einoftionB of the last few hours 
had exhausted her ; she was faint with fatigue and 
want of food. , Deronda, observing her pallor and 
tremulousness, longed to show more feeling, but 
dared not. She put out her hanid with an effort to 
smile, and then he opened the door for her. That 
WHS alL 

A man of refined pride shrinks &om making a 
lover^s approaches to a woman whose wealth or rank 
might make them appear presumptuous or low- 
motived ; but Deronda was finding a more delicate 
difficulty in a position which, supeitficially taken, 
w^ the reverse of that — though to an ardent rever- 
ential love, the loved woman . has always a kind of 
wealth and rank- which makes a man keenly sus- 
ceptible about the aspect of his addresses. Derenda's 
difficulty was what, any generous man migh^j have 
felt m sortie degree ; but it affected him peculiarly 
through his imagiiuative sympathy with a mind in 
which gratitude was strong. Mirah^ he knew, felt 
hietself bound to him by deep obligations, which to 
hex sensibilities might give every wish of his the 
^peot of a claim ; and an inability to ^fil iit would 
cauiiie her a pain continually revived -by their inevit- 
able <}omm(union in care for Ezra. Here -were fears 
uot of pride only, but of extreme tenderness. . Aliio- 
VOL. II. s 



538 DANIEL DBRONDA; 

gether, to have the character of a benefactor seemed 
to Deronda*s anxiety an insiirmomitabile obstadle to 
oonfesBin^ himself a lover, unless an -some iiicon- 
oeivable way it could be revealed to hiin that 
Mirah*s heart: had accepted him beforehand. And 
the agitation on his own account, too, was not small. 
I'Even a mail who has practised himself in love- 
knaking till bis own glibness has rendered him 
sceptical, may at last be overtaken by the lover's 
awe— may tremble, stammer, and show other signs 
of recovered sensibility no more in the' range of his 
acquired talents than pins and needles after numb- 
ness : how much more may that energetic timidity 
possess a maii whose inward history has cherished 
his. susceptibiMties instead of dulling them, and has 
kept all tiie language of passion fresh and rooted as 
the lovely leafage about the hillside glpring I 
.1 As for Mirah her dear head lay on its pillow that 
night with its ifoirmer suspicions thTown out of shape 
'3but.still pi»sentj;like an ugly story which has been 
discredited butinot therefore dissipated. All that 
she. was certain of about Deix)nda seemed to prove 
that he had no such fetters upon him as she had 
baeni allowing herself to believe in. His whole 
.manner as well as his words implied that there were 
no hidden bonds remaining to have any effect in 
determining his future. But notwithstanding this 
plainly reasonable inference, uneasiness still; clung 
about Mirah*is heart Deronda was not to blame, 
but. he had: an importance for Mrs Grandcourt which 
must give her some hold on him. And the thought 
of .any dose confidence between them stiared the 



BOOK VIII. — tKurr and seed. 539 

little biting snake that had long lain curled and 
harmless in Mirah's gentle bosom. 

But did she this evening feel as completely as 
before that her jealousy was no less remote from 
any possibility for herself personally than if her 
human soul had been lodged in the body of a fawn 
tha»t Deronda had saved from the archers ? Hardly. 
Something indefinably had h^pp^ed and made a 
difference. The soft warm rain of blossoms which 
had fallen just where she was — did it really come 
because she was there? What spirit was there 
among the bougjbs? 



540: 



0HAP1?M Lxrv. 



' " Questa mftntagiia S tale, 

Chej s^mpm a\ o<jfminciar >di aotto d 4jr9tfive> , 
E qiidnto uom piii va su e men fe male." 

—Dantb : II Pui^^aloHo. 



It was not many days after her mother's arrival that 
Gwendolen would consent to remain at Genoa. Her 
desire to get away from that gem of the sea, helped 
to rally her strength and courage. For what place, 
though it were the flowery vale of Enna, may not 
the inward sense turn into a circle of punishment 
where the flowers are no better than a crop of flame- 
tongues burning the soles of our feet ? 

" I shall never like to see the Mediterranean 
again," said Gwendolen to her mother, who thought 
that she quite understood her child's feeling — even 
in her tacit prohibition of any express reference to 
her late husband. 

Mrs Davilow, indeed, though compelled formally 
to regard this time as one of severe calamity, was 
virtually enjoying her life more than she had ever 
done since her daughter's marriage. It seemed that 
her darling was brought back to her not merely with 
all the old affection, but with a conscious cherishing 



BOOK Vm. FRUIT AND SEED. 541 

of her mother's neamees, such as we give^to a 'pos- 
sesaion that we have been on the brink of losing. 

"Are you there, mannna?" cried' Gwendoletti, in 
the middle of the night (a bed had been made for her 
|rj other in the same room with hers), very much as 
she would have ddne in her early girlhood, if she 
had felt frightened in lying awake. 

■ *yea, dear ; can I do anythia^lbr you?" 

" No, thank you ; only I like so to^ know you are 
there. Do you mind my waking you ? V- (This ique»- 
tion would hardly have been Gwendolen*']^ in her 
eajly. girlhood.) 

"I was not asleep, darling:" . ! . 

" It. seemed not real thiat you were with met I 
wanted to make it real. I can bear things ii you 
are with me. But you /must not lie awake bein?g 
anxious about me. You must be feappy now. You 
must let me make you ha^py now at last — el*se whal 
shfeUIdo?" f ■. •'. ' * 

.."God bless you, dear ; .1 have the best happiness 
Ifiean have, when you make much of me." ' 

But the next night, hearing that she "Was sighing 
and restless^ Mrs DaviloW said, *'Let me give you 
your sleeping-dEaught, Gwendolei*/ ■• - > 

" No, mamma, thank yrou ; I don't want to sleep.'* 

"It would be so good for you to sleep more, my 
dai-ling." .r i 

:" Bon/t say what would be good for me( mamma,^^ 
Gi^eadolen answered, impetuously. »" You don't 
knojw what would b^ good forme. .You'^iid my 
unele must not contradict me and tell me anything' 
is good for me when 1 feel it. is not gooitli" 



542 .< DANIEIL DERONDA. 

Mrs Davilow was silent, not wondering that the 
poor child was irritable. Presetitly Gwendolen said — 

" I was- always naughty to you, mamma." 

"No, dear,;no." 

" Yes^ I was," said Gwendolen j insistently. " It 
is because I was always wicked that I am miserable 
now." 

She burst into sobs and cries. The determination 
to ;be silent about all the facts of her married life 
and its dose, reacted in these escapes' of enigmatic 
excitement. 

But dim lights of interpretation were breaking on 
the mother's mind through the information that 6anie 
from Sir Hugo to Mr Gascoigne, andj'with some 
omissions, from Mr Gascoigne to herself. The good- 
natured baronet^: while he was attending to all decent 
measures in relation to his nephew-s dbath, and the 
possible washijig ashore of the body, thought it the 
kindest thing he could do to use his present friendly 
intercourse with the , JRector as an oppoii^unity for 
communicating to him, in the mildest way, the; pur- 
port of Grandioouxt's will, so as to save him the 
additional shook that would be in store for him if he 
carried his illusions aill the way home. . Perhaps Sir 
Hugo would haye been: OGmmunicable enough with- 
out that. kind motive, but. he -really felt the motive. 
He broke the unpleasant news to the Sector by 
degreies : , at firet he only implied his fear that the 
widow was not so splendidly provided for as Mr 
Gascoigne, nay, as the baronet himsfeilf had expected; 
and only at. last, after some previous vague refer- 
ence to large claims on.Grandcourt, he disclosed the 



BOOK VIII. FEUET AND SEED. 543 

prior relatione whioh, in the unfortunate absence ot 
a legitimate heir, had determiiied all the splendour 
in another direction. ' :; 

The Beotor was deeply hurty and remembered^ 
more vividly than he l|iad ever done before, ho^ 
oflfensively prond and repelling the manners of the 
deceasifed had been towards him — ^remembered also 
that he himself, in that interesting period just before 
the arrival of the n^w occupant at Diplow, had re^- 
ceived hints of former entangling dissipations, and 
an undue addiction to pleasure, though he had not 
foreseen that the pleasure whidi had probably, so t(> 
speak, been swept into private rubbish-heaps,- would 
ever present itself as an array of live caterpillars, 
disastrous to the green meat of respectable people; 
But he did not make these retrospective thoughts 
audible to Sir Hugo, or lower himself by expressing 
any indignation on merely personal ' grounds, but 
behaved like a iman of the world who had become a 
oonsoientioaii: clergyman. His first remark was--^ • 

"When a young man makes his will in healthy 
he usually coiptB on living a long while. Probably 
Mr Grandcourt did not believe that this will. would 
ever have its present effect." After a moment, he 
added, " The effect is painful in; more ways than one 
Female morality is likely to sufier from this marked 
advantage and prominence ! being given to illegiti- 
m'9,te offspring." 

" Well, in point of fact," said Sir Hugo, in his 
comfortable way, " since the boy is there, this was 
reaUy the- best alternative for the disposal of the 
estates, Grandcourt had nobody nearer than i his 



544 .;. DANIEL DERONDA. 

cousin. Aad it's a chilling thought that you go out 
of this: life only for the benefit of a cousin. A man 
gets a little pleasure in making his mil, if it's for 
IjIhq good of his own ourly h^ads ; but it's a nuisance 
when you'r* givibg and bequeathing to a used-up fol- 
low like yourself, and one you don't care two straws 
for. It's the next worse* thing to having only a life 
interest in your estates. No ; I forgive Grandcourt 
for that part of his will. But, between ourselves, 
Iwhat I don't forgive him for^ is the shabby way he 
has provided for your niece— ^owr niece, I will say — 
»o better a position than if she had been a doctor's 
widow. . Nothing grates on me mqre than that pos- 
thuiiious grudgingness towards a wife. A man ought 
to have some pride and fondness for his widow. / 
should, I know. I take it as a* test of k man, that 
he feels the easier i about his death when he can 
think of hiisLwife and daughters being comfortable 
afteu it* I like that ; story of the fellows in the Cm- 
mean war, who were ready to go to iJae bottom of 
the sea, I if their widows fwere provided for." 

^*It htts certainly taken me by sfuyprise," said Mr 
Gascoi^e, " all the morb because, as the one who 
stood in the place of father to my niece, I had shown 
my reliance on Mr Grandcourt's apparent liberality 
in money matters by making no claiins for her be- 
forehand. That seemed to me due to him under the 
circumstances. Probably you think me bfemable." 

"Not hlataable . exactly. I i^esp^ct' a man ' for 
trusting another. But -take my advice. If you 
idarry another niece, though it may be to the Ah5h- 
bifihop of Canterbtry^ bind him down. Your niece 



BOOK Vm. FRUIT AND SEED. 545 

can't be married for the first time twice over. And 
ifhe'Bagood fellow, he'll wish to be bound. But 
as to Mrs Grd^ndcourt, I can only say that I feel my 
relation to her all the nearer because I think that 
she has not been well ti^eated. And I hope yon 
will urge her to rely 'on me as a friend." ' 

Thus spake the chivalrous Sir 'Hugo, in his dis- 
gust at tke young and beautiful widow of a Mallin- 
ger Grandcourt being left with only iwo thousand 
a-year and a bouse in a coal-mining district. Tcv 
the Rector that income naturally appeared less 
iB^abby and less accompanied with m6rtifying priva- 
tions ; but in this conversation he had devoiured a 
much keener setise than the baronet's of the humili- 
ation cast over his niece, and also over her nearest 
friJBnds, by the oonspicuoub piiblishing of her hus- 
band's relation to Mrs Glasher. And like all men 
who are good husbands and fathers, he felt th^ 
humiliati'on through the minds of the women who 
would be chiefly affected by it ; so that the annoy- 
ance of first hearing the facts was far slighter than 
what he felt in communicating them to Mrs Davilow, 
and in anticipating GFwendolen's feeling whenever 
her mother saw fit to tell her of them. For the good 
Rector had an innocent conviction that his niece wafl 
unaware of Mrs Glashe^'s existence, arguing with 
masculine soundness from what maidens and wives 
were likely to know, do, and suffer, and having 
had a mofit imperfect observation of the particulai? 
maiden and wife in question. Not so Gwendolen's 
mother, who now thought that she saw aln' explana- 
tion of much that had been enigmatic in h^r child'd 



5i6 DANIEL DERONDA. 

conduct and words before and after her engagement, 
concluding that in some inconceivable way Gwen- 
dolen had been informed of this left-handed marriage 
and the existence of the children. She trusted to 
opportunities that would arise in moments of affec- 
tionate confidence before and during their journey 
to England, when she might gradually learn how 
far the actual state of things was clear to Gwendolen, 
and prepare her for anything that might be a dis- 
appointment. But she was spared from devices on 
the subject. r 

" I hope you doitt't . expect that I am going to be 
lich and grand, mamma," said Gwendolen, not long 
after the Eector^s communication; ^Vperhaps I ehall 
have nothing o-t all." , . 

She. was drest, and had; been sitting long in quieit 
meditation.. Mrs Davilow was startled, but said, 
after a, moment's reflection — 

"Oh yes, dear, you will have something. Sir 
Hugo.. knows all about the will." 

" Thq<t will not decide," said Gwendolen, abruptly. 

" Surely, dear : Sir Hugo says, you aa:e to have 
two thousand a-year and fthe house at Gadsmere." 

"What I have will depend on what I accept," 
said Gwendolen. "You and my uncle must not 
attempt to cross me and persuade me about this. 
I will do everything I can do to make you happy, 
but, in anything about my! husband I must not be 
interfered with. !» eight htmdred aryear enough for 
you, mamma?" 

" More than enough, dear. You must not think 
of giving me so much." Mi's Davilow paused a 



BOOK Vm. ^FRUIT AND SEED. 547 

little, and then said, "Do you know who is to have 
the estates and the r^st of the money?" • 

" Yes,^' said Gwendolen, waving her hand in dis- 
missal of the subject, "I know everything. It ils 
all perfectly right, and I wish nervier to have it 
n:ientioned." 

The mother was silent, looked away, and rose to 
fetch ia fan-screen, with a slight flush on her delicate 
cheeks. . Wondering, imagining, she did not* like to 
meet her daughter's eyes', and sat down again under 
a sad constraints What wretchedness her child had 
perhaps gone through, which, yet must remain as it 
always had been, locked, away from their mutual 
speech. But Gwendolen was watching her mother 
with that new dii^ination which experience had 
given her; and in tender relenting at hef own 
peremptorinesB, she said, " Come and sit nearer to 
me, mamma, and don't be unliappy." 

Mrs Davilow did as she was told, but bit her lips 
in the vain attempt to hinder smarting tears. ; Gwen- 
dolen leaned towards her caressingly and said, "I 
mean to be very wise ; I do really. And good — oh 
BO good to you, dear, old, sweet maiiima, you won't 
know me. Only you must not cry." 

The resolve that Gwendolen had in her mind was 
that she would ask Deronda whether she ought to 
accept any of her husband's taoney- — whether she 
might accept what would enable her to provide for 
her mother. The poor thing felt strong enough to 
flo anything that would give her a higher place in 
Deronda's- mind. 

An invitation that Sir Hugo pressed on her with 



548 DANIEL DBRONDA. 

kind urgency, was. that. she and Mrs Davilow eh(itiM 
go straight .with him i to Park Lane j and make his 
h^susei their abode as -long as mourning and other 
dJetiils. needed attendiiflig! to in London. Towu^ke 
iiisisted, was just then the i most retired of places ; 
and he proposed to exert himself at once. in getting 
all artielfts belonging' to Gweiidc^en away from the 
house in Groevenor Square. ;; No. proposal oo,uld have 
suited her better than this of staying a little while in 
Park Lane. It would be easy for her there to have an 
interview witih Deronda, if she only knew: how to get 
a letter into his hands,; asking him to come to; her. 
During the journey Sir Hu^o> having understood 
that she was acquainted/ with the purport of her 
hu^and's wjU, ventured, to talk before herand;ito 
her • abotit her. future . arrangements^ : referruig ;here 
and there to mildly agreeable prospects . as matters 
of course, and otherwise shedding a decorous oheer- 
fujness, over her widowed "positioiu It seemed.' to 
him realJy the., more graceful course for a widow to 
iecoter her spirits on finding that her husband had 
riot dealt as. handsomely' by her as he might have 
done ; it was the testator's fault if he compromised 
all her grief at his departure • by giving a testamen- 
tary reason for it, so that she might be feuppos^d to 
look sad not because he had left hear, but because he 
hdd left her poor. The baronet, having his kindli- 
ness doubly fanned by ^ the favourable wind 6il his 
own fortunes artd by compassion for GVendolen^. had 
become quite fatherly in \m ibehaviour to her^ called 
her " my dear," and in mentioning Gadsmere to Mr 
Giascoigne with its various advantages and disadvan- 



BOOK VUI.^wFHUIT AND SEED. 549 

ta^es, Bpoke;of what. M we'' might do to make the 
best of that property. Gwendolen sat by in pale 
silence while SiiiHligo, with hi»<&ice turned towards 
Mrs Davilow or Mr Gascoigne,. conjectured that Mrs 
Graiidcourt might pdthaps prefer letting Gademere 
to residing there' dtiring any part of the year, in 
which case he thought that it might be leased on 
coital terms to one o£ the fellowsf engaged with 
the coal :, Sir Hugoihad deen enough of the place to 
know that it was as comfortable and picturesque a 
bo^ as any man need desire, providing his desires 
were circumscribed within a coal area. 

"/ shouldn't miiid about the soot myself/' said 
the baronet, if ith that dispassionateness which be- 
longs to the potential mood. "Nothing is more 
healthy. Aiad- if one's businese lay there, Gadamere 
would be a -paradise. It makes quite a feature in 
Sterogg's history df the county, with the littie tower 
and the fine piece ./of water~the prettiest print in 
•the book" 

. "A more important place than Offendene, I sup- 
pose ? " said Mar Gascoigne. 

^tMuch," saiid the bardnet, decisively. " I was 
there with my > poor brother-^ it is more than a 
quarter of a century ago, but I remember it very 
wdl- The rooms may nicRfc be .larger, but the grounds 
are on a different scaki.? :\ . ' 

" Out poor dear Offendene is empty after all," said 
Mrs Davilow. "When it came to the point, Mr 
Hbynes declared off, and there has been no one to 
take it since. I might as well. have accepted Lord 
Boackenshaw's kind offer that I should remaih in it 



550 DANIEL DERONDiA. 

anotker year rent-free : for. I' should have kept the 
plape.: aired and warkned," 

"I hope ' you have; got something snug instead," 
said Sir Hugo. 

" A Kttle too snug," said Mr Gascoigne, smiling 
at his sister-in-law. "You are rather thick upon 
the ground." 

Gwendolen had turned with a changed glance 
when her mother spoke of Offenden^ being empty. 
This conversation passed' during one > of the long 
unaccountable pauses - often experienced in foreign 
trains at some country l station. Th0re was a 
idreamy, sunny stillness over the hedge^ess fields 
stretching to the boundary of poplars ;\ and to 
Gwendolen the talk within the carriage seenied only 
to naake the dreamland larger withi afi inolstinct 
regiooi of coal-pits, and a purgatorial Gadlpnere 
.which she would never visit : tilL at her mover's 
.words, this mingled, dozing view seemed to dissolve 
and give way to a more wakefiil vision of OffendSH^ 
and Pennicote under their cooler lights. Sh^ sEljw 
the grey shoulders of the downs, the cattle-specfcel 
fields, the shadowy plantations with rutted laiies 
where the barked timber lay for a; way$ide seat, the 
neatly-clipped hedges oh the. road from the parson- 
age to Offendene, the avettue where she was gradu- 
ally discerned from the windows, the hall-door open- 
ing, and her mother or one of the troublesome 
sreters coming out to meet her. All that brief eac- 
perienoe of a quiet hom^ which had once seemed a 
dulnefes to be fled from, now came back to her as a. 
restfiil escape, a station where she found the brea1;h 



BOOK YLU, — FRUIT AND SEED. 551 

of morning and the unreproaohing voice of birds^ 
after following a lute through a long Satanic maB- 
qmerade, which she had entered on with an into^i^ 
eated belief in its disguises, and had seen ^e end 
of in. shrieking fear lest she herself had become brie 
of the evil spirits who were dropping their htunail 
mummery and hissing around her with sei?][)ent 
tongues. 

In this way Gwendolen's mind ^used oter Offen- 
deiie and made it ihe scene of many thdughtB ; t)ut 
she giive no- further outward sign of interest tn thid 
conversation^. any more than in Sir Hugo^s opinion 
on the telegraphic cable or her uncle's views of th^ 
Ghuroh Ratfe Abolition Bill. What subjects will not 
our' talk> embrace in leisurely day-journeying from 
Genoa to London ? Even strangers, after glancing 
from China to Peru and opening their mental stores 
wifti a liberality threatening a mutual inipression of 
poverty on any future meeting, are liable to become 
excessively confidential. But the baronet and the 
Bector were under a .still stronger pressure- towards 
cheerful communidettion :' they Were like acquaint^ 
ances compelled to a long drive in a mourhing-cdach, 
who having first remarked that the occasion is a 
melancholy 6ne, ni,turally proceed to enliven it by 
the most miscellaneous discourse. "I don't mind 
telling ^ow," said Sir Hugo to the Rector, in knentiott- 
ing some private detail ; while the Rector, vrithout 
saying so, did not mind telling the baronet about his 
sons, and the difiBculty of placing them iH the world. 
By dint of discusi^g all persons and things within 
driving - reach of Diplow, Sir Hugo got himsdlf 



$52 DANIEL DERONDA. 

wrought to a pitch of interest iii tKat former home, 
and of conviction that it was his pleasant duty to 
regain and strengthen his pesr6onal influence in tlia 
neighbourhood, that roade him declare his intehtion 
of taking his family to the place far a month or two 
before the autumn .was over ; and Mr Gasooigne 
cordially rejoiced in that prospect. Altogether, the 
journey was continued and ended with mutual li^ng 
between the, male fellow-traveUears* 

Meanwhile Gwendolen sat by like one who had 
visited the spirit-world and. was full to the lips €^ 
an unutteirable experience that threw a strange un* 
reality over all the talk she was heiairing of her own 
and the world's business ; and Mrs Dav^ow was 
chiefly Occupied in imagining iwhat her daughter 
was feeling, and in wondering what was Signified 
by her hinted doubt whether she would accept her 
husband's bequest* i. Gwendolen in feot. had before 
her the unsealed wall of an immediate purpose 
shutting off every lother resolution. How to scale 
the wall? She wanted g^gain to see and consult 
Deronda, that she might s^juxe herself against any 
act he would diso^pprove. Would her remorse have 
maintained its power within her, or would she have 
felt absolved by secrecy, if it had not been for that 
outer conscience which was ma4^ for her byDer- 
onda? It is hard to say^how mndk we could for- 
give ourselves if we y^&re secure from judgment 
by anp<;her whose opinion is tjie breathing-medium 
of all our joy — who brings to iis mth close pres- 
sure ^jid immediate sequence, that jud^ent of the 
Tnvisibfe and Universal which self- flattery and the 



BOOK Vm. IfRVVT AND SEED. 553 

world's tolerance woxild easily melt and di8pei*se. 
In this way our brother may be in the. stead of 
God to «s, and his opinion which has pierced even 
to the joints and marrow, may be our virtue in the 
making. That mission of Deronda to Gwendolen 
had begun \^ath what she had felt to be his judg* 
ment of her at the- gaming-table. He might easily 
hdve spoiled it:— much of our lives is spent in 
marring our own influence and turning others' be- 
lief in us into a widely concluding unbelief which 
they call knowledge of the world, while it is really 
disappointment • in you or me. Deronda had not 
spoiled his mission. 

Biit Gwendolen had forgotten to ask him for hib 
address in case she wanted to write, and her bnly 
way of reaching him was through Sir Hugo. She 
was not in tlie least blind to the construction that 
all witnesses migtt put on her giving signs of de- 
pendence on Deronda, and her seeking him more 
than he sought her : Grandcourt's rebukes had suffi- 
ciently enlightened her pride. But the force, the 
tenacity of her nature had thrown itself into that 
dependence, and she would no more let go her hold 
on Derdnda's help, or deny herself the interview 
her soul needed, because of witnesses, than if she 
had been in prison in danger of being condenmed 
to death. When she was in Park Lane and knew 
that the baronet would be going down to the Abbey 
immediately (just to see his ikmily fdr a Couple of 
days And then return to transact needful business 
fbr Gwendolen), she said to him without any air 
of hesitation. While her mother Was present — 



554 DANlBa^ DBROWA. 

"Sir Hugo, I wish to see Mr Deronda, agdia as 
soon as possible. I do»'t. know his address. Will 
you tell it, me, or let him know, that I want to see 
him?" , . . . ,. 

A quick thought passed ac^^osS' ^ Hugo's feoe, 
but made no diiFerence to the. i^ase with which he 
said, " Upon my word, I don't knqw whether he's 
at his chambers or the Abb^y at this mpn^ent. But 
I'll make sure of him. rii send a jiote now to his 
chambers telling him tOk come, aniql if he's at the 
Abbey I can give him.youy message and send him 
up at once, I am bvlt^ he will want to.rOl:)|ey your 
wish," the baronet ended, with grave kindness, as 
if nothing coTild seem to him more in the appro- 
priate course of things th§m that she should send 
such a meidsage. 

But he was. convinced that Gwendolen l^ad a pas- 
sionate attachment to Deronda, the ^^d^ of which 
had been laid long ago, and his former suspicion 
now recurred to him with more strengjth than: ever, 
that her feeling was lively to leiad her into impru- 
dences — in which kind-h^^rted Sir Hugo was de^ 
terniined to screen ■ and ddf<^n.d her as far as lay in 
his power. To him, it was. as pretty a story as 
need be that this fine creatiure and his fevouiite 
Dan, should have turned out to be formed for each 
other, and that th^ unsuitable hfUsb^jid 8hoi;ld have 
made his* exit in such excellent time. Sir Hugo 
^ked that a charming woman aliened be made as 
hapi)y as possible. In truth, wjnat-most vexed his 
mind in this matter at present was a doubt whether 
the too lofty and inscrutable Dan had not got some 



BOOK VIII. FRUIT AND SEED. 555 

scheme or other in his head, which would prove 
to be dearer to him than the lovely Mrs Grand- 
court, and put that neatly -prepared marriage with 
her out of the question. It was among the usual 
paradoxes of feeling that Sir Hugo, who had given 
his fatherly cautions to Deronda against too much 
tenderness in his relations with the bride, should 
now feel rather itritateli 'agadrist him by the sus- 
picion that he had not fallen in love as he ought 
to have done. Of coursel all this thinking on Sir 
Hugo's part was eminently premature, only a fort- 
night or so after Grandcourt's death. But it is the 
trick of: thinking to be either jicemature! or vbehind^ 
hand- m ... 

Hotvever^ he sent thei i^oite to Deronda^a chambers, 
and it found him there* i : * . t . '. 



556 



QHAPTER LXV. 



' O, welcome, pure-dyed Faith, w)iite-^anded Hope, 
Thou hoveriDg angel, girt with, golden wings ! " 

—Milton. 



Dbronda did not obey Gwendolen's new summons 
without some agitation. Not his vanity, but his 
keen sympathy made him susceptible to the danger 
that another's heart might feel larger demands on 
him than he would be able to fulfil ; and it was no 
longer a matter of argument with him, but of pene- 
trating consciousness, that Gwendolen's soul clung 
to his with a passionate need. We do not argue 
the existence of the anger or the scorn that thrills 
through us in a voice ; we simply feel it, and it 
admits of no disproof. Deronda felt this woman's 
destiny hanging on his over a precipice of despair. 
Any one who Imows him cannot wonder at his in- 
ward confession, that if all this had happened little 
more than a year ago, he would hardly have asked 
himself whether he loved her : the impetuous deter- 
mining impulse which would have moved him would 
have been to save her from sorrow^ to shelter her 
life for evermore from the dangers of loneliness, 
and carry out to the last the rescue he had begun 



BOOK VIII. FRUIT AND SEED. 55^ 

in that monitory redemption of i the necklace. But 
now, love and duty^imd thrown other bonds aifound 
him, ; and that impulse could no longer determine 
his life ; still, it was present in him as a oompas* 
sicKtiate yearning, a'paanful quiveriiag at the very 
imaginatioh of having again and again to meet the 
appeal of her eyes and words. The veTy Strength 
of the bond, the certainty of the resolte^Jthat kept 
him asunder .from her, made him gaze at her lot 
apart with the more aching pity. 

He awaited her coming in the back drawing-kiooiaQ 
-—part of that white and crimson space where they 
had sat together at the musical party^ where Gwen* 
dolen had said for the. first. time that, heat lot de- 
pended an his not forsaking her,' and her appeal' had 
seemed to melt into tEe melodic cry — Fnr pktd non 
dirad ^dio. But the -melody* had come from Miarah's: 
d;ear yoice, . : 

i Deronda walked about '^this room, which he had 
for years known by heart, with a strange senile' of 
metamorphosis in his own iife. The familiar objects 
around him, from Lady Mallinger's' gently smiling 
portrait to the also human and urbane[ faces of; the 
lions on the pilasters of the chimney-piifcce, seemed 
almost to belong to a previous state of existence 
which he was revisiting in memory only, not in 
reality ; so' deep and tvansformialg haid been the 
impressions he had lately experienced, so new were 
the conditions under -which he found himself in tl>e 
house he had been accustomed to think of aa a 
home — 'Standing with his hat in his handaWait^ 
ing the entrance of a young creature whose life had 



S53 DANIEL DERONDA 

ak6 been undergoing a transformation — a tikgic 
transformatioh -towards a.wayejing rebult, in' which 
he felt with apprehenfiivenesft . that : his own action 
was. • still boTjmd up. , 

But Gwen^oilen' was come in, looking changed, 
ndt only by her mourning dress, but by a more 
sati&fied quietude of expression than he had seen in 
her facei at Grenoa. ' Her satisfaetion was that De- 
ronda was there ; but there was no smile between 
them as they met .and clasped hands : each was fiill 
of ( remembtrances — full of anxious prevision. She 
said, " It was. good of" you to come* Let us sit 
down,'*- immediately seatiiag herself in the tieateat 
ohaiiii . He pladed himself opposite to her. 
■ *f 1 1 asked you to ocime beoause I want Jron to 
tell me what I ought to do," she began, .at <mce. 
"Dofli-t be afraid of telling me what you think is 
right, because it seems hard. I have made up my 
mind to do it, .1 was afraid once of being poor; I 
could not bear to think of being under other people ; 
and that was why I did iaomething— why I married* 
I have b6me worse things now. I think I could 
bear to be poor, if you. think I ought. IJo you 
know about my husband's will?*' 

" Yes, Sir Hugo told me," said Deronda, already 
guessing the question silie had to ask. 

" Ought I to take anything, he has left me? I 
will. teU you what I have been thinking," said 
Gwendolen, with a more nervous eagerness. " Per- 
haps you may ^not quite know that I really did 
think a good deal about my mother when I married. 
I uias selfish, but I did love her, and feel about her 



BOOK VIII.-— FRUIT AJSiD SEED. 559. 

poverty; and what comforted me most at first, when 
I was miserable, was her being better of^ because I 
had married. The thing that would be hardest to 
me now would be to see her in poverty again ; and I 
have been thinking that if I took enough to i pro- 
vide for her, and no more — nothing for myself — it 
wOxdd not be. wrong; for I was very , precipus to my 
mother — ^and he took me from her — ^and he meant — 
and if she had known i " 

Gwendolen broke oif. She had been preparing 
herself for this interview, -by; thinking of hardly 
anything else than this question of right towards 
her mother; but the question had carried with it 
thoughts and yeasQi^s which it was impossible for 
her to utter, and the^e- perilous remembrances 
swarmed between ber words, making her spfeach 
more and more agitated. and tremulous. She looked 
down helplessly at her haiids, now unladen of all 
rings except her wedding-ring. . 

" Do not hurt yourself by speaking of that," said 
Deronda, tenderly. . "There is.»o need; the ease is 
very simple. I think I Can haidly judge wrongly 
about it. Yjou consult me because I am the only 
person to whom, you' have confided the Ee«)st paiinfiil 
part of your eixperience ; and I. can understand your 
scruples." He did not go on immediately, waiiting 
for her to recover herself The silence seemed to 
Gwendolen full of the tenderness that she.he^rd.dn 
hid voice, and she had courtige to lift up her eyes 
and look at him as he said, " You are cojlscious of 
something which you feel to be a «rime towarda 
one who is dead. You think that you have for- 



560 DANIEL DERONDA. 

feited all claim as a wife. You shrink from taking 
what was /his- Yon want to keep yourself pure 
from profiting by his death. Your feeling even 
ni-ges you to some self-punishment — some scourging 
of the self that disobeyed your better will — ^the will 
that struggled against temptation. I have kno^vn 
something of that myself. Do I understand you ? " 

" Yes— at least, I want to be good — not like what 
I have been," said Gwendolen. - " I will try to bear 
what you think I ought to bear. I have tried to 
tell you the worst about myself* What ought I 
to do?" 

" If no one but yourself were concerned in this 
question of income," said Deronda, " I should hardly 
dare to urge youagainst any remorsefril prompting ; 
but I take as a guide now your feeling about Mrs 
Davilow," which seems to me quite just. • I oannot 
think that your husband's dues even to yourself are 
nullified by any act you have committed* He volun- 
tarily entered into your .life, and affected its course 
iii what is always the most momentoUs way. But 
setting that aside, it was due from him in his posi- 
tion that he should provide for your mother, and 
he 6f course understood th&t if thiB will took effect 
she would shafe the provision he had mtade for 
you." 

"She has had eight hundred a-yeat. What I 
thought of was to take that and leave the rest," 
said Gwendolen. She had been so long inwardly 
arguing for this as a permission, that her mind 
eould not at once take another attitude. 

" I think it is not your duty to fix a limit in that 



BOOK Vni. — ^FRUIT AND SEED. '581 

way/' .said Deronda. "You would be making a pain* 
ful enigma foor Mrs Dayilow ; an income from which 
yoti ^hut yourself out must h& embittered to her. 
And your own course would become too difficult. 
We agreed at Genoa that the' burthen on your con- 
science is what no oae ought to be admitted to the 
kndwledge 6£ The future beneficence of your life 
will be best furthered by your saving all others from 
the pain of that knowledge. In latiy opinion you 
ought simply to abide by the provisions of your 
husband's will, and let your remorse tell only on 
thb use ;that you will ma^e of your monetary in- 
dependence.'' 

In uttering the last sentence Deronda automatic 
caUy took up his hat, which he h^d iaid <!)n the floor 
beside him. Gwendolen, sensitive to' his slightest 
movement, felt her heart giving a great leap, as' if 
it too had a consciousness of its owui, and would 
hinder him from going: in the same moment sh^ 
rose from her chair, unable to reflect that the move- 
ment was an aoceptance of his apparent intentioq to 
leave her ; and Deronda of course also rose, advanc- 
ing a little. 

" I will do what you tell me," said Gwendolen, 
hurriedly; "but what else shallt I do?" No -other 
than these simple words were possible to her ; and 
even these were too much for her in- a state of 
emotion where her proud secrecy was' disenthroned : 
as the childlike sentences fell from her lips they 
riBaoted on her like a picture of her own helpless- 
ness, and she could not check the sob which sent 
the largie tears to her eyes. Deronda, too^ • felt a 



562 DANIEL DSRONDA. 

crushing pain ; but imminent consequences were 
visible to him, and urged him to the utmost ex- 
ertion of consciencei When she had pressed her 
tears away, he said, in a gently questioning tone — 

"You will probably be soon going with Mrs Davi- 
iow into the country ? " 

*^Yes, iii a week or ten days." Gwendolen waited 
an instaht, turning her eyes vaguely towstrds the 
window, as if looking at some imagined prospect. 
" I wknt to be kind to them all — they can be 
happier than I can. Is that the best I can do?" 
: " I think so. It is a duty that cannot be doubt- 
ful," said Deronda. He paused a little between his 
sentences, feeling a weight of anxiety on all his 
words, "Other duties will spring from it. Look- 
ing at your life as a debt may seem the dreariest 
view of things at a distance ; btit it cannot really be 
so. What makes life dreary is the want of motive ; 
but once beginning to act with that penitential, lov- 
ing purpose you have in your mind, there will be un- 
expected satisfactions — ^ihere wiU be newly-opening 
needd*— continually coming to carry you on from day 
to day. You will find your life growing like a plant." 

Gwendolen turned her eyes on .him with the look 
of one athirst towards, the sound of unseen Watere. 
Deronda felt the look as if she had been stretch- 
ing her arms towards him from a forsaken shore. 
His voioe took an affectionate imploringness when 
he said-r— 

" This sorrow, - which has ont down to the root, 
has. come to you while you are so young— try to 
think of it, not as a spoiling of your life, but as a 



BOOK VIII. ^FRUIT AND SEED. 563 

preparation for it. Let it be a preparation " 

Any one overhearing his tones would hai^ thought 
he was entreating far his. own happiness. **See ! 
you have been saved from the Worrit evils llhat 
might have oom& from' yofur marriage, which you 
feel was wrong. You have had a vibioh of injuri- 
ous, sel^b action— ^a virion .of possible degradation ; 
think that a severe angel/ seeing- you along thd 
lOad of error, grasped you :by the wrist, and showed 
you the horror of the life you must avoid; > Aiid it 
has come to you in your spring-time; Think of it 
as a preparation. You can, you will, be among the 
best of women, such as make others gl^d that th^y 
were bom." 

The words were like* the touch of a miraculous 
hand to Gwendolen. Mi^agled- emotiioika streamed 
through her fiume with a strength thaii selemed th(6 
beginning of a new existence, having sotne n^W 
powers or other which > stirred -in her vaguely. So 
pregnant is the divine hope of moral i»eeo very with 
the energy Hiat fulfils it. So potent in us* is the 
infused action of another soul, before which we bow 
in complete love. But the new existence seemed 
inseparable from Deronda : the hope seemed to 
make his presence perraaneiit. It was iJot her 
thought, that he loved her and would cling' to her 
— ti thought would have totJtfered with irbprobftbil- 
ity ; it was her spiritual breath. For the fir^t time 
since that terrible moment on the sea a flush rose 
atid spread over her cheek, brow, • aAd ri'eck, deep- 
ened an instant dr two, and then gr^u'ally disap- 
peared. She did not speak. 



564 DANIEL DERONDA. 

Derondft advanced and put out his laand, sa3aiig, 
" I muist not weary yon." 

; She was startled by the aense that he was goingj 
930i6: put her hand in his, still without' speaking. 

.** You. look ill yet — unlike yourself/' he added, 
while he held her handi 

"I can't sleep much," she answered^ ^h some 
return of her dispirited manner.- "Things repeat 
fhemaelyes in me so. They oow^ back^^^they will 
aU Qome back,'! she ended, shud<ieringly, a bhill fear 
threatening her. .' - 

"By degrees they will be less.. insistent," said 
Dfttonda.. He could . not drop her hand of move 
away from her abruptly. 

"Six Hugo says he shall come to stay at Diplow," 
said Gwendolen, snatching at previously intended 
words which had slipped aihray from her. . "You 
wiU oome toOi*' . 

"Ifrobably," said. Deroinda, and , then feeling that 
the word yras Cpld, he added, eorreotiVely, " Y^s, I 
shall come," and then released herh^-nd, with the 
final friendly pressure of one who has : virtually said 
good-bye. . » 

" And not again here, before I leav^; town ? " said 
Qwejjidolen, with timicj sadness, lookipg lAfl pallid 
as, ever. . ■ i • 

What could Deronda say ? " If I can be of any 
use — :if you wish m.e — certainly. I wiU*!* 

i^ I ujjUst wish it," said Gwendoleti, i^apetUously ; 
" you know I must wish it What strength have I ? 
Who else is there ? " Again a sob was rising* 

Deronda felt a pang, wh^ch shQ wad itself in his 



BOOK VIII.-^FRUIT AND SEED. 565 

face. He looked miserable as he said) ^^ I will 
certainly oonaeJ' 

Grwendolen perceived; the change in hisrface ; but 
the intense reliefof eKpeoting' him to come- again 
tsould noft give way to any other feeling, aad iiheire 
was a recovery of the inspired hope wid courage 
in her. • . 

** Don't be unhappy abontme," she said, in a tone 
of affectionate assurance. ^'I shall remember your 
words— ^every! one of them. I shall remember what 
you believe about me ; I shall try." 

^e looked at him firmly, and put out her hand 
again as if sihe bad forgotten what had passed simbe 
those words of his wliich she promised to Temember* 
But there was lio approach to ar smile on her! lips. 
She had never smiled since her husband's dfeathi 
When she iStood still and^ in silence, she looked like 
a melancholy statue of th^ Gwendolen whose kugiv- 
tor had once been so ready when others were gram 

It is only by rememberiiig the searching anguish 
which had changed the aspect of the world for her 
that we can understand her behaviour to Deronda 
— the unreflecting opeimess, nay, the importunkte 
pleading, with which she exj)ressed hetr depend- 
ence on him. Gotii^derations such ai W($uld have 
filled the minds of indifferent spectators could not 
occTO" to her, any more than if flames had been 
mounting etrbund her, and she had flung hersfelf 
into his c<|>ened aintos and clung ■ about his neck 
that he might carry her into safety. She identified 
him with the struggling regenerative process in 
her which had begu'n with' hia action. Is it any 



566 DANIEL DBRONDA. 

wonder that .she saw her own nefcessity r^ected in 
his feeling ? She was in that state of un conscious 
reliance and expectation which -ia a commcdi experi- 
ence with us when w^'dre preocfcupied with otir own 
trotible or our own purposesi 'Wedifiuee.our feeling 
over: others, ai^d' count oh theii^o acting from our 
motives. H^ imagination had not been turned to 
a future union with Deronda bji^naiy, other than the 
spiritual tie whibh.hald been leontimiallyi strength* 
ening ; but also it hkd .not; ibeen- turned toward* 
a future separation ftoiin .him.'.! Lovfe^making and 
faiarriage—4-how . could theyiribw lie 'the imagery in 
which poor Gwendolen's deepesifjattadunent could 
spontaneoiuely clothe itself? Mighty liovei. had laid 
his : hand upon^her; but ^hat had .be.idemanded of 
hfer?; Acceptance of refouke-t-tfai3.iiar4taek of self- 
change — -Confession — endiiuancfe^ i If she cried to- 
^aordf^ him^ what then?^ '• She cried as -the ^child cries 
whose little feet have i £aHett-1paok«Far<l-rt-cried to be 
taken by .the hand, lest, she dboujld/lose herself. 
• The cry pierded Djeropda. What position could 
havebefen-more difficult for a man ftill of tenderness^ 
yet .with clear, foresight ? He was .tbe> dnly creature 
who khew.tho real paturei.of Gwendolej^'s trouble : 
to wlithduaw himself, from ap;f appeal of hers would 
be to conrign her, to a d^tn'geirOus , Ipneliness. He 
could not reconcile himselft.tp, the cruelty .qf -f^ppa- 
rently. rejecting her depende^ic^ On him ;; ^iid yet 
in the nearer or farther dista^oe he paw a., [coming 
wrench, which all present strengthening, of their 
bond would make . the harder. 

He was obliged to risk that. . Hq went once and 



BOOK VIII. FKUIT AND SEED. 567 

again to Park Lane before Gwendolen left ; but 
their interviews were in the presence of Mrs Davi • 
low, and were therefore less agitating. Gwendolen, 
since she had determined to accept her income, had 
conceived a project which she liked to speak of: it 
was, to place her mother and sisters with herself in 
OfiTendene again, and, as she said, piece back her life 
on to that time when they first went there, and when 
everything was happiness about her, only she did 
not know it. The idea had been mentioned to Sir 
Hugo, who was going to exert himself about the 
letting of Gadsmere for a rent which would more 
than pay the ren* of Ofiendene. All this was told 
to Deronda, who willingly dwelt on a subject that 
seetned to give som^ soothing occupatiain to Gwen- 
dolen. He said nothing, and she asked nothing, of 
what chiefly occupied himself. Her mind was fixed 
on his coming to Diplow before the autumn was 
over ; and she no more thought of the Lapidoths— 
the little Jewess and her brother — as likely to make 
a difference in her destiny, than of the fermenting 
poiitioal and social leaven which was making a 
difference in the history of the world. In fact, poor 
Gwendoleia's memory had been stunned, and all ont- 
aide the lava-lit track of het troubled conscience, and 
her effort to get deliverance from it, lay for her in 
dim forgetfdlness. 



568 



CHAPTEE LXVI. 



' One day still fierce "mid many a day struck calm/' 

^BaowHtma: Tht JUmg and (h$ Book^ 



Meanwhile Ezra ajjd Mirab, whom Gwendolen did 
not include in lier tbinking about Deronda, were 
having their relation to him drawn closer and brought 
into fuller light. 

The &ther Lapidoth had quitted his daughter at 
the doorstep, ruled by that possibility of stistking 
something in play or betting which presented itself 
with the handhng of any sum beyond the price of 
staying actual hunger, and left no care for alter- 
native prospects or resolutions. Until he had lost 
everything he never considered whether he would 
«pply to Mirah again or whether he would brave his 
son^s presence. In the firs(t moment he had shrunk 
from eocounteruig Ezra as he would have shrunk 
from any other situation of disagreeable constraiht 5 
and the possession of Mirah' s purse was enough to 
banish the thought of future necessities. The gamb- 
ling appetite is more absolutely dominant than bodily 
hunger, which can be neutralised by an emotional 
or intellectual excitation ; but the passion for watch- 



BOOK VIIL— FflUIT AND SEED. 569 

iiag ehanees— the habitual' siispezishre poisd of the 
mind in actual or imaginary play — nullifies the sus- 
ceptibility to other excitation. In its final, imperious 
stage, it seems the unjoyous dissipation of demons^ 
seeking diTearsion on the burning marl of perdition. 

Eat every form of selfishness, however abstract 
and ubhum&n, requires the support of at least one 
meal a-'day ; and though Laj[)idoth'8 appetite for food 
and drink was extremely moderate, he had slipped 
into a shabby, unfriended form of life in which the 
ttppetite Botild not be satisfied without some ready 
money. When, in a brief visit at a house which 
announced " Pyramids " on the window-blind, he had 
fiyst doubled and trebled and finally lost Mirah-s 
thirty shillings, he went out with her empty purse 
in his pocket, already balancing in his mind whether 
he should get another immediate stake by pawning 
the purse,' or whether he should go back to her 
giving himself a good cpuntehance by restoring the 
purse, and decliaring that he had used thQ money 
in paying a score that was standing agaiiist him. 
Besides, among the sensibilities still left strong it 
ii^doth was the sensibility to his own claims, and 
he appeared to himself to have a claim on any pro- 
perty his children might possess, which was stronger 
than the justice of his son's resentment. After all, 
to take up his lodging with his children was the 
bfest thing he could do ; and the ttiore he thought 
of meeting Ezra the less he winoed from it, his im- 
agination being more wrought on by the chances 
of his getting something int<&/^hi« pocket with safety 
atid without exemption, than by the threat of a private 
VOL. II. T 



570 DANIEL DBRONDA. 

tLUmiliatidn. Luok had been against him lately ; he 
expected it to /turn — land might not iha. turn begin 
with some opening of supplies which would prefi^nt 
itself through his daughter's a£&iirs and the good 
friends she had spoken of? Lapidoth counted on 
the fascinatioaof his cleverness-^an old habit of 
mind which early experience had saniOtioned ; and 
it is not only women who are una^wre.of, theip. di- 
minished charm, or imagine that they can feign. not 
to be worn out^ 

The result of Lapidoth's rapid balancing was that 
he went towards the little square in Broinpton with 
the hope, that, . by walking about and watching, he 
might catch si^ht.of Mirah going out or returning, 
in which case his entrance into the house! Would be 
made easier. But it was already evening-r-^the even- 
ing of the day next to that on which he had first 
seen her ;• aaid after a little waiting, weariness made 
him reflect that he- might ring, and if she were not 
at home, he might ask the time at which she was 
expected. But on coming near the house he knew 
that she was at home:, he heard her- singing. 

Mirah, seated at liie piano, was pouribg forHi 
"jffier^, mein Herz" while Ezra was listening with 
his eyes shut, when Mrs Adam opened the door, and 
said in some embarrassment — 

" A gentlemaln below says he is your father, mjss.'^ 

" I will go down to him," «aid Mirah, starting np 
immediately and looking towai*ds her brother. 

"No, Mirah, not so," said Ezra, with decision. 
"Let him come up, Mrs Adam." 

Mirah stood with her hands pinching each other. 



BOOK Vtll. FRUIT AND SEED. 571 

and feeling sick with .anxiety, while she contiiiued 
looking at Ezra, who had also risen, and T^as evi- 
dently much shaken. But there was an expression 
in his' fece which she had never seen before ; his 
brow was knit, his lips seemed hardened with the 
same severity that gleamed from his eyes. 

When Mrs Adam opened the door t<3 let in -fche 
fkther, she conld not help casting a look at the 
gronp,' and aifter glancing from the younger man 
to the elder, said to herself as she closed the door, 
'* Father, sure enough." The likeness was tliat of 
outline, which is always most strikihg at the first 
moment; the expression had been wrought into the 
strongest contrast by such hidden or inconspicuous 
difierences as can make the genius of a Cromwell 
within the outward type of a father who was no 
mote thah a respectable parishioner. 
■ Lapidoth had put on a melancholy expression 
beforehand, but there was some real wincing in his 
frame as he said — 

" Well, Ezra, my boy, you hardly know me after 
so' many years." 

" I kn6w you — too well — father," said Ezra, with 
a sl5w biting solemnity which made the word father 
a reproach. 

"Ah, you are not pleased with me. I don't 
wonder at it. Appearances have been againsf me. 
When a man gets into straits he can't do just as he 
would by himself or anybody else, /'ve sufiei'ed 
enough, I know," said Lapidoth, quickly. In speak- 
ing he always recovered some glibness and hardi- 
hood ; and now turning towards Mirah, he held out 



572 DANIEL DroONDA, 

her piwae, sayings "gere*s .;your little pwse, my 
dear. I tkought ypu,'d be anxioiHij^ at)<i>ut it because 
of thai^ bit of writing. IVe emjp^tied: it, yo^u'll see, 
for I had a score to pay .f(jr fopdiai^d. lodging. I 
kn^w you would like me to ;x;lear myself, and here 
I stand — without a single farthing in my pocket — 
at the mercy of my children. You io9,n turn me out 
if you like*,, without getting a; polioem^-n. Say tiUe, 
word, Mirah; say, * Father, I've had ^npugb of you ; 
you made a pet of me, and spjent yo,ur all on, ipe, 
when I couldn't. liaye done without you,;. but, I can 
do better without you ppw/ — say that, and I'm gone 
opt like a spark. I shan't spoil your.pleasip-e again." 
T?he tears were in h}s yqice as nfu^. before he had 
finished. 

" Ypu know I could never. say it,, father," aTiiswered 
Mirah, with not the less anguish because sljie felt the 
fOflsity of everything in his speech except t^i^implied 
wish to remain in the house.. . , : 

" Mirah, my sister, leave us ! " said Ezra,, i^ a tcwae 
of authority. 

She looked at her brother faltering] y, beseechingly 
—in awe of h^s decision, yet unable to go without 
making a plea for this fe.tl>er who was like some- 
thing that had grown in her flesh with painj but that 
sjie could nqver have cut. away without worse pain. 
She went close to her brothei;,,and putting her hand 
in his, paid, in a low voiqe, but not sq low as to be 
unheard by Lapidoth, ^'Eemember, E^ra — ypn said 
my mother would not have shiiif him- out." 

" Trust me, ajud go," said Ezra., , ; ; . 
. She left the room, but after going a fpvyr step? i;ip 



BOOK ym. iFRUIT AND SEED. 573 

thj© stairs, sat down with a palpitating hearit. If, 
because. of anything her brother, ^said to* him, hio 
weipdb etway— - , ,,' 

. . Ijapidoth had some sewse of whati Wfts being j^re-? 
pared &f him in his soi>*s mind, but. he was begin-r 
ning .to adjust himself to the situation and ;find ^ 
pjoipt of view that woi^ld give him ia cool superiprity 
to anjj iattempt at humiliating him* This haggardi 
son, Bpe^yig as feom a $6pulchte, ,had the incon- 
gruity which selfish leyity learns to see in Siafferii^g 
Md death, until th^ unrelenting pincers of diset^&e 
Ql^toh its^owft flesh* Whait^ver preaching he. might, 
deliver must be l^ken for a tnatter of dour^^, as a* 
man finding shelter from hail in ati open oatliedral 
might take a littl^ religious howling that happei^i^d 
to be going ofi theye. , • r 

Lapidioth iwas not bom. with this sort of pallors-; 
ij^ss:,Jtie h?A achieved it. ., v . ; 

" Tbiip hpmej that we have hei^e," Ezra beg^^i^, " is. 
maiutainj&ij partly by the generosity lOf a beloy;ed 
friend Tv:ho supports ma, and partly by. thj9 Ji^bpurs 
of my sister,, who supports , herself.. While we, .have, 
a home we will no% shut you out .from it. We ^ill 
not, cast you out to the mercy o^ your vjces* ,. For 
y(>u, atie. our father, and though you. haye ]p^oke^iv 
you^ bond, w,e . acknowledgej ours. But ; f will , ney^i^ 
trusit you. You absconded with mo;iey, Ije^ying your 
d^bta unpaid ; you fprsopk my motlier ; you probbed 
Ip-er of her little child, and brofee her hjcatrt ; you hav^ 
beDon;i,e a, gambler, ajud where shame aad conscience 
were, there sits an ii^^atiable desire 5 yg]:| were rea,(^y 
to jsell my sister — yoii had sold her, but the price 



574 DANlELi 1>BR0NDA. 

wks denied you. The man who has done these 
things must never expert to be trusted any more. 
We will share our food with you — you shall' have a 
bed, and clothiiig. We will do this duty to you, 
because, you arfe our father* But you will nevfer be 
trusted. You are an evil man : you made the misery 
of 6ur mother. That such a man is our father is a 
bi?and on oiir flesh which will riot cease smarting. 
But the Eternal has laid it upon tis '; and though 
human justice were-to flog you for crimeis, and your 
body fell helpless before the public scom^— we wotild 
still say, *This is our father; make way, that we 
may carry him out of your sight.*" 

LapidOth, in adjusting himself to what was coming, 
had not been feible to foresee the exact intensity of 
the lightning or the exact course it would take — 
that it would not fall outside his frame but through 
it. He could not foresee what' was 60 new to him 
as this voice from the doul of his son.' 'Jt touched 
that spring of hysterical excitability \^hich Mirah 
used to witness in him when he sat. at home and 
sobbed. As Ezra endfed, Lapidoth threw himself 
intd a chair and cried like a woman, burying his 
face against the. table— dnd yet, strangely, while 
iSiis hysteiical crying Was an inevitable reaction in 
him under the stress of his son's words, it wa:s 
also a conscious resource in a difficulty ; just as in 
early life, when he was a bright-faced curly young 
man, 'he had be^n used to avail himself of this 
subtly -poised physical susceptibility to tiirri the 
edge of resehtment or' disapprobation. 

Ezra sat down again arid said nothing — exhausted 



BOOK Vm. ^FKUIT AND SEED. '675 

by the 'fthoct of hig owti irrepressible Titteraric^, the 
outburst of feelings ■ which for years he had' borne in 
solitude and silence. His thin, hands- trembled on 
the armJB of the chair J he would hardly have fbuM 
voice to answer a question ; he .felt' as if he . had 
taken ia step towards biaokoning' /Deiith. Meanwhile 
Mirah^s quick expectant ear dete6tfed A Aound which 
her heart recognised.: she cotild not; stay oat of th6 
room any longer. But on ; opening the door: heii iiimiie^ 
diate alarm was for Ezra, and it was to > hik side that 
she went, taking hisi trembling hand in hers, whibh he 
pressed and found support in ; but he did not speaM, 
or even .look at her. .The father .with Jiis face buried 
was conscious l^at Mixah had) entered, and. presently 
lifted' up his heady'pressed his handkerchief kgainst 
his eyes,, put out hi«r hand towards her, and said with 
plaintive hoarseness, -^^ <Grood*bye, Mirah^ybur/fiEithiar 
will not tarouble you ti^in. / • He deserves to ' dip ; like 
a dog by the roadside, and he'wilL M /your mother 
had liired, she would have forgivk*- meH^-tbirty-four 
yefers ago I put theiifing .on her finger iliiider the 
Ohappaj and wa were made one. / She would have 
fergiven me, amd we should have spent; ouir old- ag^ 
together. But I haven't deserved it. Good-bye." ■. 

He i:o0© from >th^, chair as he said the last "good- 
bye." Mirah had put' her hwnd in his and held 
him. She was n6t teaarful and gweving, but'Mght- 
ened and awe-Btraok,, as she cried out--^ 

;" No,. father^ no!" Then tuTning to her brotiier, 
"Ezra, you have not forbidden hink?< — Stay,. father, 
and leave off wrong things. Ezra, I cannot bear it 
How Ban I say to my father^ .< Go and die I' " 



.576 PAJTIEi . DERONDA. 

"I hfav© not said it,*' . Ezi». answered, wiih gi-eat 
effort. '^*I have saidj stay and be sheltered." - 

; " Then yon will siiay, father^^-and b^ taken care 
b£-^nd come with me" saad Miirah^ drawing him 
towards the door. ' : ' - . ^ 

This was really iwhat Lapidoth wanted* And for 
the moment he Mt a sort of comfort in! recovering 
his daughter's dntifal tendance, that mad© a change 
of habits! seeiia possible tp him. :She led :him down 
to the' parlour below, and said-r^ 

"This is my isitting-room when I am not vwith 
iEzra, and there is a bedroon^f behind which shaU 
be yburs. You wiU stay' and be good, fother. 
Think that yoti are c6me back to iny mother, and 
thait sh^ has forgiven . you — ^she speaks to you 
thrflTigh Aae." Mirah/S tones, wisre imploring, biit 
«he! could not give one of her former caresses. 
( Lapidoth quickly recovered ihis composure, began 
to speak to Milrah. of the Improvement in her voice, 
and-othieir easy Siubjects, and when Mrs Adarrt caxne 
to lay oujfe his supper, entered into conv^se witfai her 
in order to show her that he was not :a ooi^azabn 
pers6ii', though his clothes were just, now against 
him. ; . ■ • . • 

'But in hifii'ii^iial wakefulness at night, he fell 
to. wondering what money Mirah' had i by her J aiid 
went iback over old Continental hoiHS at Bouletiey 
reproducing the method of his play^ wid the chatnoes 
that had .frusttated it* He !had had his'reascMs for 
oovaing to England,: but for most things it waid a 
Cursed countryi : !. 

These were the stronger visions of the nigiit with 



BOOK VIII. PRt/IT AND SEED. 577 

Lapidoth, and not the worn frame of his irefal son 
uttering a terrible judgment. Ezra did pass across 
the gaming-table, and his words were audible ; but 
he passed like an insubstantial ghost, and his words 
had the heart eaten out of them by numbers and 
movements that seemed to make the very tissue of 
Lapidoth' s consciousness. 



&78 



CHAPTEE LXVII. 



The godhead in us wrings our nobler deeds 
From our reluctant selves. 



It was an unpleasant surprise to Deronda when 
he returned from the Abbey to find the undesirable 
father installed in the lodgings at Brompton. Mirah 
had felt it necessary to speak of Deronda to her 
father, and even to make him as fully aware as 
she could of the way in which the friendship with 
'Ezra, had begun, and of the sympathy which had 
cemented it. She passed more hghtly over what 
Deropda had done for her, omitting altogether the 
rescue from drowning, and speaking of the shelter 
she had found in Mrs Meyrick^s family so as to 
leave her father to suppose that it was through 
these friends Deronda had become acquainted with 
her. She could not persuade herself to more conoi- 
pleteness in her narrative : she could not let the 
breath of her father's soul pass over her relation 
to Deronda. And Lapidoth, for reasons, was not 
eager in his questioning about the circumstances 
of her flight and arrival in England. But he was 



BOOK VIII.— -raurP : AND SEED. 579 

mudi interested in the fact of his children haying 
a benefioent friend appfarently high in the world: 
' It was the brother who told Deronda of this new 
condilion added to their life. '" I am become fealiri 
in beholding him. now," Ezra ended, "and I try, te 
think it possible that my. sister's tenderness, and the 
daily tasting a life of peace, may win him to remain 
aloof from temptation. I have enjoined her, and she 
has promised, to trust him with no money. I have 
convinced her that he will huy with it his own de- 
struction.!' ■ - ( ■ 
Deronda first came on the third day from Lapit 
doth's arrival. The new clothes for which he 
had. beein measured were not yet ready, and wish- 
ing to make a favourable impressioh he did. not 
choose to present himself in the old ones. He 
watched for Beroiida's departure, and gettiiig a 
view of him from thfe window was rather surprised 
l^t hi» youthfulnesB, which Mirah had hot meiitioned^ 
and which he had somehow thought out of ,thd 
question in a personage who had taken "tip a grave 
friendship and hoary studies with the sepulchral 
Ezra. Lapidoth began to imagine thai Deronda's 
real: or chief motive must be that he was in love 
with Mirah. And so much the better; for a. tie 
to Mimh' had more promise ^ of indulgence for , heir 
&ther than the tie to Ezra ; and Lapidoth was 
not without the . hope of recommending himself 
to Deronda, and of softening any hard prepoflses- 
sions. He was behaving with much amiability, and 
trying^ in all ways at hie command to get him* 
Belf inta easy domestication with hi»' children — en- 



580 DANIBL DERONDA. 

tering into Mirah^s muftie, showing himself docile 
about smoking, which Mrs Adiam oould not>i tolerate 
in her parlout, and walMng out ii the square with 
hiB>€rerman pipe and the tobacco with which Mirah 
supplied him. He was\too acute to irenture any 
present remonstrance against the reftisal of money, 
which Mirah told him that < she mvi&t persist in as a 
solemn duty promised to her brother. He was isom- 
fortable enough to wait. 

The next tibae Deronda came, Lapidoth, equipped 
in his new clothes and satisfied with his own appeai*- 
ance, was int&e room with Ezra, who was tea»ching 
hitasfelf, as part of his severe duty, tb tolerate hib 
father's: presbnee whenever it was imposed. Deri- 
onda was cold and distant, the first sight of this 
man, .who had blighted*, the lives of his wife arid 
childrien, creating in him a repulsion that wias even 
a physical discomfort. But Lapidoth did not let 
himself be disiouraged, asked leave to stay and 
hriar' the reading of papers from the old chest, 
and actually, inade himself useful in helping to 
decipher some difficult Gierman manuscript. This 
led him to suggest thiat it might be desirable to 
make a transdription of the manuscript j and he 
oflered liis: services for this • purpo'se, and also to 
make copies of any papers in Roman characters. 
Though' Ezra's young eyes, he observed, were get- 
ting weak, his :own were still strong. Beronda 
accepted the offer,- thinking that Lapidoth showed 
k sign of grace in the willingness to be employed 
usefully ; and . he saw a gratified expression' in 
Ezra's facia, • who, • however, , presently said, " Let 



BOOK Vm:^^ — FRUIT AND SEED. 581 

'dill' thei writing 'be doii© here; for I cannot trust 
the papers out of my sights lest there fee nan acci- 
dent by burning or otherwiBel." ' Poor Ezra felt very 
mnoh ai if he had. a convict on leave trader his 
charge* ' Uftle«s he saw his father wording, it was 
n<>t possible to believe that he would work in good 
faith. But by this arrangement he festeked on 
himstelf the burthen of his father's presence^ which 
was riiade painftil not only through his deiepest, 
lohgest afesociationSj but also through Lapidbthts 
restlessness of temperament, which- showed itself 
the more as- he became familiarised with his sit- 
uation, and Ibst any awe he had felt of his son. 
The fact was, he was putting a strong cohstraint 
on himself in •, confining his att'Cntion for the Sake 
of winning Deronda's favour ; and like a man in 
an uncomfortable garment he gave himself relief 
at every opportunity, going out to smoke, or moving 
about and talking, or throwing 'himself back' in his 
chair and remaining silent, but incessantly carrying 
on adiimb language of facial movement or gesticu- 
lation ; and if Miiuh were in the room, he would fikll 
into his old habit of talk with her, gossiping about 
their fornler doings and companions, or repeating 
'quirks, and stories, and plots of the plays he used 
to adapt, in the belief that he could at will com- 
^mand the vivacity of his earlier time. All this was 
a mortalinfliction'to Ezra ; and when Mirah was at 
home she tried to relieve him, by getting her father 
down into the parlour and keeping watch over him 
there.- What duty- is made of a i^ngle^diflScult re- 
solve?- The difficulty lids in' tl*e daily ui|fliriohitig 



582 DAiTIBL DERONDA. 

siapport of oonsequences that mar the blessed return 
of inormng with the prc^pect of iirritajtion tqbe sup- 
pressed or shame to be endured. Aiwij.suGji oon- 
sequenoes were being borne by tbesj^; as hy many 
other, heroic children of an unworthy; father-T^with 
the prospect, at least to Mirah, of their stretching 
onward through the- solid part (if life. 

Meanwhile Lapidoth's presence had raided a fluew 
impalpable partition between Deronda and Mirah--r- 
each of them dreading the soiling Inferences of his 
mind, each of tliem interpreting mistakenly the 
increased reserve and diffidence of the. other. But 
it was. not very long before some light came to 
Deronda.. , 

As soon as he could, after returning from, his brief 
visit to the Abbey, he had called at Hans, Mey rick's 
rooms, feeling it, on more grounds than, one, a due 
of friejadship that Hans should be at once acquainted 
with .the reasons of : his late journey, and the changes 
of intention it had brought about. Hans was not 
there; he was said to be in the country for a few 
da<ys ; and Deronda, after leaving a note, waited a 
week, rather expecting a note in retijim. But re- 
ceiving no word, and fearing some freak of feeling in 
the . incalculably susceptible Hans, whose proposed 
sojourn at the Abbey he kuew had been Referred, he 
at length made a second call, and was admitted into 
the painting-room j, where he found his friend in a 
lights coat, without a waistood-t, his long hair still 
1 wet from a bath, but with a face loioking wqrn and 
wizened — anything but country-like. He had. taken 
up his palette and brushes, and stood before his 



BOOK Vin. FRUIT AND SEED. 583 

easel when Deronda entered, but the equipinent and 
attitude seemed to have been got up on short notice. 

As they shook hands, Deronda said, " You d6n't 
look much as if you had been in the couiltty, old 
fellow. Is ift Cambridge you have been to?" 

"No," saiS Hans, curtly, throwing down* his 
palette with thfe- air of one who has begun to. feign 
by mistake ; then, pushing forward a chair for 
Deronda, he threw himself into another, and Ifeaned 
backward with his hands behind his head, w^hile he 
went' on, "IVe b^6n to I-don't-ktow-where*— No 
man's 'land — iand a mortally unpleasant country 
it is." ' ' ' 

• " You don't' ihfean to say you have been drink- 
ing', Hans," said Deitonda, who had seated timself 
opposite, in anxious survey. ' 

"Nothing so good, Tve been smoking opium. 
I always meant to do it some time or other, to try 
how mlich bliss could be got by it; and having 
fbtitid myself just now rather out of other bliss, I 
thotight it judicious to seize the opportunity. But 
I pledge you my word I shall never* 'tap a cask 
of that ; bliss again. It disagrees with my oonsti^ 
tution." ■ 

" What has been the matter ? You were in good 
spirits enough when you wrote to me." 

" Oh, nothing in particular. The woifld began to 
look s^dy — a sort of cabbage-garden with all the 
cabbages cut. A malady of genius^ you may be 
sure," said Hans, creasing his face into a smile ; 
" and, in fact, I was tired of being virtuous without 
reward, especially in this hot London weather." 



584 DANIEIj DERONDA. 

"NothiDg else? No raal vexation?" said Der- 
pnda. :! 

Hans shook his head. 

" I eaiqe to tell you of my own'aBairs, feut I can't 
do it with a good grace if you are to hide yours*" 

" ^s^YQxx^t an afiair in the wodd/* saifl Hans, in a 
flighty way, *^ except a quaitel with a bric-a-hrao 
man. Besides, as it is the first time in our lives 
that you ever spoke. to me arbout your own afiairs, 
you are only beginning tjo pay. a pretty long debt.'* 

Deronda felt convinced tijat Hans wias behaving 
artifipially, but he , trusted to a t^tum of the pld 
frankness by-and-by if he gave his own confid^DbCQ." 

." You laughed at the mystery of my joumoy to 
Italy, Hans," he began. " It was for an object that 
touched my happiness . at ih^ veiy ?:pQt6. . I had 
never known anything about my parents, and I 
really went to Genoa to meet my mother., My 
fiither ha^ been long dead—tdied when I was.au 
infant. My mother was the (daughter of an emfr^ent 
Jew ; my father was her couam. ; Many things had 
caused me to think of this <)rig^i as ailmost a p|:ob« 
ability before I set out. I was .80 fau p^iEipared for 
the result that I was glad of it — glad to find myself 
a Jew.": ., . ' . 

" You must ;Dot expect me to look Surprised, Pe- 
ronda,'' said ,^an8, who had changed his < attitude, 
laying one leg across thp other and examining the 
heel , of his, slipper. 

^^You.knev^ it?" 

. " My mother told me. She went to the" hpupe 
the morning 9.fter. you had b^en tbere-^brother..9^d 



BOOK yilL— ^FBUIT: AND SEED. 585 

slater /both told heF. You may ixuagiiile we) oan't 
rejoice as they do. But whatever you are glad of, 
I.flfaallicome- to b© glad of in the end— lo^n dxawstly 
the/ ehd maj^be I ican't predict,'' Baid Hans, «peak<- 
ing in a low tone, which was- fews unusual with him 
ae it was to be out of htitn6ur with his lot, and yet 
beBt on making no fuss about it. 

" I quite understand that you can't share my 
feeliiKg,'Msaid Derondai ; ^^ but I eould not let silence 
lie between us on. what oastib 'quite a new Hghlf 
over my future. I have taken" up some of Mor- 
decai's ideas,. laud I ojoean -io .try .and carry' them 
c»it,. so hr as ione man's efforts can go. I ; daresay 
I shall by -and -by travel to the East and be away 
foriaome years;" > i * 

! Hans jgiaid nothing, but rose, seized his palette 
and began 'to work his brush on it, st^ding befoirei 
his picture with his back to Deroada, who also felt 
himseK at a break' in his path, embarrassed by 
Hans^B embarrassment. 

Presently Hans said, again speaking low, and 
without; tumii^, "Excbse the 'question, but does 
jyirs' Grandcourt know of all this?'' ... 

" No ; and I must beg of you^; Hans^" said De- 
randa, rathetr angrily, " to cease joking on that 
subject. Any notions you: have ; are wide, of . tfee 
tmth—^are the i very rev^erse of the.trujfti." : / • . . 
. ."I am no moGfe inolinied to joke than I sfeall be 
at my .own funeral," paid Hans. " But I am not 
at ^11 sure that you Q,re aware what are -my notions 
on that subject." ,; .. " 

" Perhaps not," .said -Derqivia* " Bwt let Sne say, 



586 DANIEL DERONDA. I 

once for all, that in irelation to MrSiGranddourt, I 
never have had, and never shall have, the poBitibn 
of a lover. If) yon have ever, seidously put that 
iiiterpretation on ah3rthing you have observed, you 
are supremely mistaken." 

There was silence a little: while,- and to ea^ the 
silence was like an h-ritating. air, exaggerating dis- 
comfort. • ■■ • '■_ .:• '• ").. • • •>' .•'• '.'i . 

^^ Perhaps I have been mistaken ib anolher inter- 
pretation also," said Hans, ^esently.^ 

"What is that?" : ' 1 .. 

" That you had no wish to hold the position of 
a lover towards another wom'an^ who is neither wife 
nor widow." 

" I can't pretend not to understand you, Meyrick. 
It is painful that our wishes should cDash. But I 
hope you will teU me if you have any 'ground for 
supposing that you ^uld succeed." 

'" That seems rather a superfluous inquiry on your 
part, Deronda," said Hans, witfc some irritatioBi 

^^ Why supeiifluous ? " 

" Because you are perfectly cbiivinced on tiie sub- 
ject — and probably you have had the very* best 
evidence to convince you." : ' ' 

"I wiU'ibe more frank witji you than yo»'aro 
with me," said Derondft,' ptill iheated by HauB*» 
show of temper, and yet sorry for him. " I have 
never had the dlightest evidence that I should 'stio- 
ceed myself.' 'lii fact, I havfe Very littl^ hope." 

Hans looked round hastily at 'his friend, but im* 
mediately turned to his picture again. 
/* And in our present situation," said Deronda, 



BOOK JIII.^ — FEUET AND SEED. 56^7 

hurt <b}i[ the ideatb^^ Hao^ suspected him of insin- 
cerity, and giving vjan offended eniphiwifi to hifi 
words,: "I don't see iJiQW I lOan deliberaitdy make 
^nQvvn iny fe^lii^g to her. . If she could not return 
it, I should Jbaye embittered iher best coinfbrt, for 
neither she nor X can be parted .from herbrotber^ 
and we should have to meet continually. If I '.were 
to cause, her that sort Qf pain by an unwilling be- 
ijrq-yal of my .fueling, I shQidd bie no tetter (than a 
mj^phievous animal."; . . :,. 1 

" I don't -know that I have eiter: betarayed mt/ feel- 
ing to her," said, 3^ns, as if/ he- ¥s<4re .vindicating 
hiimselt /' ^ • . 

*^,You mean that W0 s^r© oo, a level;, then, you 
have nq reason to envy me/' 

"Oh, not the ^lightest," said Hans, . with bitter 
irony. " You.jhftve me$<sured my conceit and know 
that it out-tops all your advantages." 

"I am.i^.nuisattc^to yoa?j, M^yricfc I am ..sorry, 
but I canit help it," .said' Peronda, rising. "After 
what passed between , \«i before, I Wished to have 
thjis. explanation ; md I don't see that any ]bret6n* 
sions of mine have made a real difference to you. 
They are not likely to makei,any pleasant difference 
to, myself under present circumstances. No^ the 
fatli^ is there rr-idid . you kn^W; thait the father iiii 
therfi?" . . , ...... 

" Yes. JX be were not a Jew I would permit 
myself to .^jnn him -i- with faint praise, I ^ean,T 
s^id Hans, biit.iwith no smile. i 

"She and I meet under greater bOnstraint than 
ever. , Things- might go op,. in this way for two 



58S " DANIBL 'DERONDA. 

yBara without my getting any insight into ' her 
feeling towards me. That is the whrtle - state of 
affairs, Hans. Neither yon nor I have injured the 
other, that *I can see. We inust put up With this 
Bort of rivalry in a hope that is likely enough td 
come to nothing. Our friendship oAn bear that 
strain, surely*." ... ' 

J^^No, it oan*t," said H4ns, impetuously, throw- 
ing down his tools, thlruBting his hands into his 
coat -pockets, and turning round to fe.ce Deronda, 
who drew back a little anii looked at him with 
amazement. H«ln8 vtnent on in the same tone — 

" Our friendship — my friendship — can't bear the 
strain of behaving t(» you like an imgrateful das- 
tard and grudging you yoUr happiness. For you 
are ' the happiest dog in the world. If Mirah 
loves anybody better than her brother^ you are the 
man. ■ '• . : '* 

HauR turned on his heel and threw himself into 
his chair, looking up at t)eronda with an expression 
the reverse of iender. Somethiiig like a shock 
passed through Deronda, ahd, after an instant, he 
said; — 

" It is a good-natured fiction of yours', Hans.". 

" I am not in a good-natured itiood. I assure yoii 
I found the fact disagreeable when it was thrust on 
me — all the more, or perhaps all the less, because I 
believed then that yottr heart \Vas ][)l6Aged to tlie 
Duchess. But now, confound youl'y'oti turn out 
to be in love in the right plade— a JeV-^hd every- 
thing eligible.^'* • ' ' ' 

**Tell mo' what continoed you — there V a good 



BOOK VIII. mVlT AND SEED. 



589 



fellow," said Deronda, distrusting a delight that he 
was unused to. 

" Don't ask. Little mother was witness. The 
upshot is, that Mirah is jealous of the Duchess, and 
the sooner you relieve her mind, the better. There ! 
I've cleared off a score or two, and may be allowed 
to swear at you fpr getting, w^hat you deserve — 
which is just the very best luck I know of." 

" God bless you, Hans ! " said Deronda, putting 
out his hand^. which the other took and wrung in 
silence. 



.•■ I ' . > i 






590 



PPAPTEE LXVIII 



' All tlioughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whtrtever stirB tins moAki' ft-aine, ' 
All are but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame." 

— Coleridge. 



Deronda's eagerness to confess his love could hardly 
have had a stronger stimulus than Hans had given 
it in his assurance that Mirah needed relief from 
jealousy. He went on his next visit to Ezra with 
the determination to be resolute in using — nay, in 
requesting — an opportunity of private conversation 
with her. If she accepted his love, he felt courage- 
ous about all other consequences, and as her be- 
trothed husband he would gain a protective author- 
ity which might be a desirable defence for her in 
future difficulties with her father. Deronda had not 
observed any signs of growing restlessness in Lapi- 
doth, or of diminished desire to recommend himself; 
but he had forebodings of some future struggle, some 
mortification, or some intolerable increase of domestic 
disquietude in which he might save Ezra and Mirah 
from being helpless victims. 

His forebodings would have been strengthened if 
he had known what was going on in the father's 



BOOK VIIL FRUIT AND SEED. 691 

iamd. That amount of restlessness, that desaltori- 
iiees of attention, which made a smdll torture to 
Ezrar, was to Lapidoth an irksome submission to 
restmint, only made bearable by his 'thinking of it 
as a means of bjrand-by securing a well-conditioned 
freedom. He began with the intention of awaiting 
some really good chanoe, such as an opening for 
getting a considerablJe sum from Deronda ; but all- 
the while he was -looking abott curiously, aiad 1a:3ring 
to discover where Mirah deposited: her money and 
her keys< The imperious gambling desire within 
him, which carried on its activity ■ through eveiry 
other ocoupatioii, and made a contiiiuouH web of 
imagination that held. all else in its; meshes, would 
hardly have been ftnder ; the oontrol.of a protraetedj 
purpose, if he had been able to lay his hand on anyi 
sum worth capturing. But Mirah, with her practical 
cleaf-sightedness^ guarded against any fru^rstibii of 
the promise she had given !^zra, by coMdihg' all' 
money, except what she was immediately in want 
of, to Mrs, Meyriok's care, and Lapidoth felt himself 
undei* an irritating completeness of supjily in'kind 
as ina lunatic asylum where everything was made 
safe agMHst him. Toliave opened a desk or drawer 
of Mirah^s, and pocketed any bank-notes fohnd thiere, 
would have beeri to his mind a sort of domestic 
appropriation which had no disgrace in it ; the 
degrees of liberty a man allows himsblf with other 
people's property being often delicately drawn, even 
beyond the boundary wheare the law begins to lay 
its hbld--^which is the reason wHy spoons Ate a safer 
investment than- mining' shares. Lapidoth really 



592 nAJJJEL DiERONDA. - i 

felt himBelf iiijuriously treated by hm daughter, askd 
thoughtithat hie ought: to have had what h® waBte<i 
of her'-^ther.ieaiaainga as .he bad of her apple«-tart« 
But he Jemained sul&mislsiye ;' indeed, /the imdiscre^ 
tion that most tempted him, T^as not ahy inBistence 
with ^ • Mirah, but sooaie kind of ■ appeal to Deronda. 
Gl«ver persons who have .Hothihg else to sell can 
often put. a' good I price ■ oib ; their absence, and Lapi- 
doth{» diffiault search t for dp vioes forced upon him 
lihe idea that i Ms lainily would find themselves 
happier wiitliout 'him, .and "that Deronda would be 
willing to 1 advance' a iconsiderable sum foi- the sake 
of getting!!. rid of him;. But, In spite of ; ' weM-p(rac- 
tised . hardihood, Lapidoth was still in ^ome awe of 
Esau's imiposibg friend, and defeired his purpose 
indefinitely*' ; ■ > 

i Oh this day, when Deroiidah^ '^ome'fiall of a 
gladdemed consoiousnees, Whioh ii^evitaibly showed 
iteelf iii his air and speech, Lapidoth was at a crisis 
of 'discontent' and longings that made his- mind busy 
T»^ith<Bohemes of fi'eedom, and Deroida's new aineniiy 
enooturaiged then!. This • prpoccupation ' wias at last 
so strong a^ to interfere with his uBilial ' ihow of 
mtoreist in /.what went forward, and. his ^rsisitenbe 
in 'Slitting by even wheili therfe was reading which he 
could Bot follow. After sittisKg a little while j he went 
out to 'smoSke and walk in the 8i[][Uidre, and the two 
friends were all thd easier. Mirah was not at home, 
but she was. sure to be in again before Deronda left^ 
and hfe eyes glo\^ed with el ygeoret anticipation: he 
thought that when he saw her again he shotdd^beei 
SQilaei sweetuess of reeoguition. for himself to which 



BOOK YUI.— rRUrr AN® SEED. 593 

his eyes hid beeoi seaiLed before. Tliere was an 
additional playful affeotionateness in hie manber 
towaids -vEzra*' ' . * ■ . 

" This ' littliB rooin is too close for you, Ezr»,V 
hei Baid, breakiBg off hiS' reading. r.'^The week's 
beat we eoinetimes get here is worse than tliie 
heat in Genoalyi where one ditsdn the* shaded oooii- 
ness of large > rooms. -You mast haVe a better 
hotne no(w., I shail do as I like with yoa, being 
the sirongei: hal£" He smiHed i^oward. Ezra,, who 
saidtr^' ! ■ 11 .• ■..'•■ . ■ "t.' i-- 

" I am straitened for nothing .except breath. But 
yo^ipi, fwho might be: in a spabi^os paktoe^ with the 
wide green ccraiubry around you^ find this a harrow 
pariaon; Nevertheless^- I. oarinot say, * Go.' " 
. ^^Oh, the cotmtiy would-be ia: banishment while 
you are here," sjdd Deronda, rising and. walking 
round; the double room^ which yet offered^ m long 
promenade^ while he made a great fan of his hand^ 
kerchief. " This is the happiest room m. the world 
toi me. Besides, I will imagine myself in .the East, 
since I am getting ready to; go .there sonne. day^ 
Only I wiM not wear a cmvat and la heavy .rinig 
there," he eatded emphaitib^y, pausing to take off 
thosel superfluities and deposit them on a- small 
taUe behind Ezra, who had the table in &ont of 
him covered wiih books and papers. 

" L have -been wearing my memorable ring 'errer 
sinoe I c^ineii.homeyV he. went on, as he i^e^eo/ted 
himaelf..' /*But :I; am sudi a Sybarite tliat I 6m* 
Sitiantlyj put ,it off. as ^ burthen Vhen I ami doing 
anything. I undeifetand why the Bomann had «um- 



594 DANIEL DERONDA. 

(mer rings — if they had them. Now 'then, I shall 
get oni better." 

They were soon absorbed in their work a^am. 
Derdnda was reading a' piece of rabbinical Hebrew 
under Ezra's correction and 'comment, and they took 
little notice when Lapidoth ire-entbred' and seated 
himself iK>me what in the backgromid. 
. His ramblirig .eyes quickly alighted oei the ring 
that sparir.led on the bit of dark iaabogany. Dur- 
ing his wialk, his .mind had been oboiipied with the 
fiction of an advantageous opening for him abroad, 
only requirihg a sum "of ready money,: which, on 
being communicated! to Deronda^'in 'private, miight 
immediately draw from him a question as to 'the 
amount of the required sum; and it was this part 
of his forecast th4t Lapidoth found the most debate- 
able, there being a daiiger in asking too much, and 
^ prospective regret in asking too Mttle. • His own 
desire gave him no* Umit, kndr he was quite without 
guidance as to the limit of Dieronda'^s willingness'. 
But now, in the midst of these 'airy conditions pre- 
pfiratory to a receipt which remained indefinite, this 
ring, which on Deronda^s finger had; become familiar 
to' Lapidoth- s: envy, siiddenly shoie ' detached j and 
within easy grasp. Its value was certainly below 
the smallest of the itnaginary sums thai) his purpose 
fluctuated between ; but ilien it wais beft>re him as a 
BoM fact, and hie desire at' once leaped into the 
ih<Dught (not yet an intention) tiiat • if he were 
quietly to pocket that ring and walk away he would 
have > the means of conifortable escape 'from present 
restratnt, without trouble, and also without danger ; 



BOOK YIII. mUlT AKD SEED. 595 

for any property of Deronda's (aviB|,ilable without his 
fonnal consebt) was all one with hm children's pro-* 
perty, since their father would never be pbosectated 
for taking H. The details of ' this thinking'' foUoVred 
each other so quickly that they seemed to rise 
before him as one picture^ • 'Lapddoth had n^ver 
committed larceny; but laroeny is a form of appro* 
priation for which people are punished iby law ; and 
to take this ring fit)m a TiTtual r^latioii/ who would 
have been willing to make a much heavier 'gift, 
would not coilie under the- head of larieny^ Still, 
the heavier gift was to be preft^rred, if Lapidoth 
could only make haste enough in asking for it, and 
the imaginary action of taking the ring; which kep4{ 
repeatilig itself like' an inward tune, eamk into a 
rejected idea. He satisfied his urgent' longing by 
resolving' io' go below, and watfch for the moment of 
Deronda's departure, when he would ask leave t^ 
join hitn in his walk, and boldly .carry out his' medi- 
tated plan. He tose and stood looking out of the 
window, but all the While he' saw what lay behind 
hini — tiae brief -passage hfe would- ha^^ to make* to 
the door clbse by the table where -the tin^ was. 
However/ he W€is resolved to go- down; btt — by .no 
diistinct change of resolution, rfetheir by a doihinanc^ 
(rf desire, i like the thirst ot the drunkJard^it so hap^ 
pened that in passing the table his fingers fell 
noiselessly on the ring, 'and he found hiinself in the 
passage . with the ring in his hand. It fc^lowed 
that he put on his hat arid ' quitted the house. The 
possibility of again throwing' Him self on his children 
receded into the indefinite distance', and before he 



596 DANIEL DERONDA. 

wafi out of the square bi& sense of ha&te had ccw^ 
oentrated itself ou aellihg-.the ring, aBjd getting, on 
shipboard. . ^ . < ; 

: Deronda and Ezra wfere I jttsit aware .of his exit ; 
that was all. But, bynaad-by, Mixah came in and 
made a real interruption* She had not. tafeeii off hen 
hat ; and when Deronda rose and advancied to shake 
bands with hier, she said, in a confusion' at once 
unaccountable and troubfesome td herselfrt- 

"I jonly oame.in to see that Ezra had his new 
dtaught I must, go directly to Mrs Meyrfek's 
to fetch something." 

" Pray allow me to walk, with you^" said DeroiJid^ 
iftrgdntly. " I must not :tire Ezra any furtheiTij be- 
sides, my. brains are meljfcing* I want to go tOi Mrs 
Mfeyrick^s: may I go with y«iu.? " 

. 'f Oh yes," said Mirah, blushiili^ still more, t«dth 
the »yague' sense of something new in Perondaj and 
turning . aiway to poui^ out E^^ra's draught ; Ezra 
miaanwbile throwing back his hisad with hip ©yes 
shutj unable to get his mind awa{^ from the ideas 
that had been filling it while the. re^adiog wae gc»ng 
on^.7 Det^nda for. a, moment stood thinking of noth^ 
ing but the walk) i till Mirah turned round again and 
brought the draught, wl»en he suddenljy^ remecfr- 
beor^d that he ba-d laid 9,g}de his" cratat, and say!u%i 
^— r<' Prj^y I excuse mjy- dishaWlle— I did jt^ot mean yioq 
to see ity" he Went': to the littlg table> .took uj> his 
cravat, and ejioladmed . with ai violent impulse of 
surprise, " Good heavens ! wher-e is my ring gone?" 
begianing to seiarch about on the floor. 

;Ei^a looked round the coomer of his chair» Mirah, 



BOOK Vni. VnfJTT AND SEED. 597 

quick ai thought; wetit to the- sl)ot where Deiionda 
Vael seeking, aud aaid^ ." Did you lay it dowa?" 

"Yes,'* said Derbnda, still uni?!jsited by aJiy other 
explatiation than.thdt the ariug had fallen and was 
lurkjpg in shadow, itidiscernible on the variegated 
carpet. He was moving tlie bits of futiiiture near^ 
and searching in all possible and impassible pliaces 
with hand and eyes. ' » 

But euaoth^r explanation had vifflted Mirah iand 
taken I the colour from her chbdek. She went +o 
£^a'8 ear and whispered, "Waa my father here?" 
He bent his head in reply, meeting her eyes 
with terribla understanding. She daarted. back to 
the spot where ' Der6]ada was still casting down 
hi$ 0j^ in that hojielefea exploration which we 
are apt to carry ogq oyer a> space we have ' examined 
in vain; . ^iYpu heivd riot found it?"f she said, 
hurriedly. ■ ' i 

He,' mating her frightened gaze, imnnefliately' 
caught al^irm &om it and answered,! '^I p^^rhaps 
put it in; my pocket," professing : t© feel for it 

She.waitched him and said, "It .is riot there ?^--' 
you put it ,on; the, table," with a penetrating vdioe> 
that ^ould.inot let him feign, to, havie found it in 
hip pocket ; anfl, i!mi?aediately she rushjed out of the; 
room. Derpnda followed her 7— she was goBe into; 
Ijhe sit;ting-room beJo>«^ to look for her fia^their— rshei 
opened the door of ithe bedroorii ;to see if he were 
thar0-^Bhe looked where hifi hat ueuallly hung-^she 
turtied with hec htod^ clasped :tight and her lipfek 
palp, gal^i^lg despairingly out of the \*^iadow. Theni 



598 I>ANIEL^'DE!RONDA. ' • ^ ... ; 

sHe looked tip at Deroiida whof had not dared to 
speak to Jxer in her white agitation. Sh^ looked 
up at hiaaa, unable to utter a word--^tTie look seemed 
a tacit acceptance bf the humiliation ifehe felt in his 
presence- But he^ taking her clasped heinde between 
both his, said, in a tone oftreTSirent adoration— 
' ** Mirah, let me' think that he ife my father as well 
as yours — that we can have no sorrow, no disgmce, 
no joy apart. I will father take your grief to l^e 
mine than I would take the brightest joy of 'another' 
woman. Say yon will not reject me— say you will 
take me to share ail tilings with 'yadL Bky you will 
promise tb be my wifeT^--8ayiit now. I have been 
in doubt so long — I han^e Im^ to hide my love so 
long. ■ Say that now and alwaiy&I may prove ^ 
^ou that J love you with; complete love;*' ■ ' 
. The dasange iin Mirah had been gradual; She 
had not passed at once from anguish to ttfe fall, 
blessed ooaasciousness that, iii this. moment of grief 
and shamfe, Deronda wa» giving her th^ highest 
tribute inan cfiin give to woman. ( With th^ first 
tones and the first words, she had only a sense of 
solemn comfort, referring this goodness of D^onda's 
to 'his feeling fot E2ara. iBut by degrees the. rap- 
turous assiirance of unhoped-ibr good ■ took posses- 
sion of her fraane ; her feice gloWed' under Defbnda's 
as he bent over her; yet shfe looked up still With 
iiaiens^ gravity, as when shfe had first acknowledged 
with religious gratitude that he hfed thought her 
"worthy of the best";!*' and wften he had finished, 
she could say nothing — she tjould only lift up her 
lips to his and just kiss them, as if that 'Were the 



BOOK VIII. ^PRUIT AND SEED. 599 

simplest "yes." They stood then, only looking at 
each other, he holding her hands between his — too 
happy to move, meeting so fully in their new con- 
sciousness that all signs would have seemed to 
throw them farther apart, till Mirah said in a whis- 
per : " Let us go and comfort Ezra." 



600 



CHAPTER LXIX. 



' The human nature unto which I felt 
That I belonged, and reverenced with love, 
Was not a punctual presence, but a spirit 
Diffused through time and space, with aid derived 
Of evidence from monuments, erect, 
Prostrate, or leaning towards their common rest 
In earth, the widely scattered wi'eck sublime 
Of vanished nations." 

—Wordsworth : The Prdude, 



Sir Hugo carried out his plan of spending part of 
the autumn at Diplow, and by the beginning of 
October his presence was spreading some cheerful- 
ness in the neighbourhood, among all ranks and per- 
sons concerned, from the stately homes of Bracken- 
shaw and Quetcham to the respectable shop-parlours 
in Wanchester. For Sir Hugo was a man who liked 
to show himself and be affable, a Liberal of good 
lineage, who confided entirely in Keform as not 
likely to make any serious difference in English 
habits of feeling, one of which undoubtedly is the 
liking to behold society well fenced and adorned 
with hereditary rank. Hence he made Diplow a 
most agreeable house, extending his invitations to 
old Wanchester solicitors and young village curates. 



BOOK VIII.— FRUIT AND SEED. 601 

but also taking some care in the combination df his 
guests, and. not feeding all tlie common poultry . 
together, so that they should think their meal no 
particular compliment, Easy-goipg Lord Br&oken- 
shaw, for exaiinple, would not mind meeting iRobin- 
son the attorney, but Robinson would have been 
naturally piqued if he had l^een Asked to meet st 
set of people who passed for his' equals. Gn all 
these points Sir Hugo was well informed enoiigh 
at once to < gain popularity for himself and give 
pleasure to others -*^ two results which eminently 
suited his disposition. The Rector: of Pennicote^ 
now found a reception at Diplow very different from 
the haughty tolerance he had undergone during the 
reign of Grandoourt. It was not only that the bar- 
onet iliked Mr Gascoigme, it was' that he desired to 
keep up a marked relation of friendliness with him 
on account of Mrs Grandcourt, for whom Sir Hugo's- 
chivalry had become more and more engagedl Why? 
The chief reason was one that he could not fully 
communicate, even to Lady Mallinger — for he would 
not tell what he thought one woman's secret to 
another, even though the other was his wife — which 
shows that his ohivsdjy included a tare reticence. 

Deronda, after he had become engaged to Mirah, 
felt it right to make a full statement of his position 
and purposes to Sir Hugo, and he chose to make it 
by letter. He had more, than a presentiment that 
his fatherly friend would feel some dissatisfaction, if 
not pain, at this turn, of his destiny. In reading 
imwelcome news, instead of hearing it, there is the 
advantage that one avoids a hasty expression of 
VOL. II. U 



§03 ' DANIEL DERONDA. 

iiiap^tiQUde .which may • afterwarde be ; repented of. 
P^toni^a dreaded that verbal oolMsion: wihich makes 
otherwise pardonable feeling lastingly oifensive. 

And Si* Htigo^ though not altogether surprised, 
was thoroughly vexed. His imm^ate resource 
>va8ito take the letter W Lady Mallinger,. vrho 
would be surel to express an astonishment wliich 
her Jmsband could argue . against as unreasonable, 
and in this way divide the stress' of his discontent. 
Anid iiliifact when she showed her$elf astonished and 
diBtres$ed that all Daniel-s wonderful talents, and 
the coTnfort of having him in the house, should 
h^ve ended in bis going mad in this way about the 
J^ws, the baronet could say-i— 

;"0h[, nonseitsei, ;my dear! depend' upon it, Dan 
win. apt, make et'fool of himself.' He has large 
aptionte abowt t Judaismh— political .Views whiqh you 
Gitn'ti tindjarstand.. No fear but ; ©an will keep ' lii m- 
self'head uppermost" 

jl^tlt with' regard to the prospective marriage, 
she afforded him; u6 counter-irritant. The gentle 
lady observed, without ranfcour, that she had little 
dreained of what was coming when she had Mirah 
to sing at her musical party and give lessons to 
Amabel. After some hesitiatibn, 'indeed, she con- 
fessed it ^a^. passed through her mind that after 
a pv(1per time Daniel might marry Mrs Grandcourt 
-rbecause it 1 seemed so remarkable that he should 
bo ,at Genoa just at that time — ^and although she 
hersfelf . was not fond of widows she could not help 
thinking that such a marriage would have been 
better 'than his going altbogether with the Jews. 



BOOK VIIL^r^FBUIT AKD SEED. 6p3 

But Bir, Htigo wffiw so. strongly of th^ .sftme opmion 
t^a^ b0 could not >cQrfect it as a' f^miniae mietakie ; 
and his ill-}iumofir at the disproof o|f his agreeable 
ooliolusiDXis on behalf of Grwendolei^ was left, without 
vfetit. He desired' Ladj Mallinger j?,ot to, breajbbe. f^ 
wordf about thie affair till fortheir .n^tipe, saying to 
bJJQqieeif, "If it is an utikind Qut t^, the.{K)or thing f 
(naeaning ,Grwe3ttdolen), "the long^^ she is: without 
){nowi||g it the better,, in her pres^ ^rvpjtia state. 
And she Vrillibe&t.leai-ni it &Qi|i.;P4n, himself. ; Sir 
Hugols coi\jectujres had.wortod.so indu^tijiously.with 
bi^ knowledge, that he fancij^d bin^self weU ipfodfmed 
confcemitig th* ^ol^ situatiow^: ;.]> < (j - 

Meanwhile his residence li^ith bis J^mily ^t Dip* 
low enfcibled him^ to oQ&tinue hisifatb^tlj^ flit^ntions 
tp GrWendoljen; and inf these Jjadjj.iJaViwg^r, not- 
withstanding her small liking for;widowsj,,Wlis qviite 
willing! to sebond him. i -f i^ ; i:;. 

The plan of removal toOffttnderie had beem Carried 
out ; and Gwendolen^ in settling ther^' maintained a 
calm . beyojBtd her mother<s hopes., She, was experi* 
etcing some! of that, peaeefuil meilai^i^oly which 
comes from the, reoninoia^tion of demainds for selfy 
and Irom taking the ordinaty. gopd ;i>f..Te:^tenc€), 
and especially kindness,' evto from a,d)og, $s ia,.gif^ 
above 'expectation. Doos one who ha^ beeiK all' but 
losti in a pit of -dajrkness complain pf the sweet air 
and th« daylight? -There [is; a w^.of ,](Ookiug a.t 
c^ life daily as. an esd^e,: ft^nd taking. /the qniet 
return of mam and evening -t^. still wpice th^ $iU^* 
like out-glowiiig of some puire fellow- fe^ijng, sqnie 
gfiherous impulse bi«ftki)E^ ou^ inward ;df(?kn^sjiT7-; 



6d4 •'= '•■ i>Aiira»i :Mron*M. >"" - 

A^ a Balva«ion tbat re(i6hicilfeW tie tof>terd^h![|).'''Thofee 
who ha-^e a 6elf-knoWM^e J>i*Oniptirig; «uoh^ self- 
acctisatioh As HainleVs, «an ilnder^and MS habiiuivl 
feeMtig of re^ctiel And it waW fdt' by (il^Wendolen 
fts ahfe liV^d tii¥oiigk iaild thw«»^h^'agiaiti'thyten^ible 
htstOty of her temptations^ froim 'theiir^ first' ferb of 
illusbty ftelf-pleasmg • When Bh^ stni^gle J • awajr ^v^m 
the hold of conSei&nce; ' to' their latest • fomi" of • ^n 
urgent ^hatred 'driecgging heti tdwstwJs its sfettteftictidtr, 
while stte pi^ayed'andicried for the help of'thit con- 
i^ienc^' whifeh ^he had once forselkeii;' She was' xh^k^^ 
dweMihg x^n eVerywdrd of Derdiida'g th«it pointed 
to her past deliveran^^'frotia thb-woret' eivili^in her* 
selP attd'.thel Woi^st infltetioii ^t iP oii; ^othets, add on 
every -i^oii^d^ihat carried a f()*«e'>tOTd«fet belMegptfir; 
But i^h-e^ Was also tlpbom^ by th^ pr<!)6pebt of iabdti 
seeitig ^him ttgaiflf' : she did ikbt iniagiiiie' 'Him other- 
wise than always within her tiefeihy-h^r l^i^tietiKj 
need of him blindingi (h^ to the' eepariiteii'ds^ of 'his 
life, 'tiie''wholei86eiiefi(if' which' f«h^ filled with- his 
reiatii)n to heir-^no nniq^ef pli^eoocupdticnv of* fp'^^n- 
doien's, for w^e are- aft feipt tQ fall into this pas^ifeate 
e^msrti of imagiriation, tidt ouly towairds'sout ^low^ 
men, b&t toWafds'God. And the fiitute whioji bhe 
tnmefd'hef ^oe to witly a .willing- g.iep wias one 
^heife she "^ould be continually assimilating ^herself 
t(y • seme type that« he . would hold; feeforfci • Jier. Had 
he tx6t fitst 'ri^fen on 'her v5'sion i-sii a; 'corrective 
presfence whioK ^i hAd 'recognised in tjie be^tinittg 
With reSsentttient, and a* last 'with' entire lovei^and 
truETt ? , She) ■ could no*' Bpontaniously think of' an 
end' to that reliaa^ey whieh had beooia^eto her in)* 



BOOK ^l[i-^-^WlUtt« '^b SEED. '^ 

condition of her walking. -'^"^ >''" "' ''"• •''/'l 

AM DetoiilA' was ri^^ long bbfdre h^ fcatn^'td 35ip- 

Ibw, wliJ<^li'^^6' at'i^^ itiOl^6 <yonWniklAt didtihcef 'froi!ri 

a plah te^ la!knijr"'i]:irtt'aiid liiirah*^tb ?W'ttiild fept bi 
the cbdst; ' 'siftiil*^ to>'^rdti^ited''^'*tebth^r hbme 'ihttt 
Mirii%'''ftilght'^'ttiY;^t''ftfef^'K5m BlM^/'atofl wii^^'ttn^y 
kigHt^feSiMly'vfafch'b'?<di*''h4^i*>hrbt4ien Bt* 'Bsirti 
bftg^^^Abt'^^ri -lYi^ 'ti^tab^^dl* tialerdk'ilt tvter^'Ub' ^^6 
mih iff^Tti'td^th&^Eakt, ^'^ (mtMvA ftblfcitafeoafe 
•wfet^ M(fcoikin'^ 'inbre'iEitid Htore bf > fe ' btetthen tb Wm' ^ 
h^t' M§ 'mitid ^d-weri bii^thb' pbaslbil^y^-bf this' vbyag'i** 
^th a visi^onttrj^ joy*/ ^ll>e]fe»Aid« in-iii4''pitepatfiition'4 
fd-'1;tfe'>ihai¥la^/'''M^Mcfe' H«'^Jh(?)p^'' M^^ liot ^bb 
defeti-ed b^y^d^a^btnpii*^ df'iidritbi^, J Wished ^to hfeVe 
Ml(^f ' tollBultaiiidii 'as W » his^jif^sbttirfeeft^' and affaim 
gent^Jttlly^with "Sir< Hft^j a^ hbJbbwafi i'Toasbn (bi< 
not dellAying'hi^ ti6iti'to''fDiplbW..AKBut'hfe thought^ 
€[tn*b Att^^i'aeh <if ahoth^ri^easoi^-^Jiis; prtn!ni«b>itb 
Qwfendbl'^n: The ^s^hst 'of 'blesBfeidbieftB in* hig: bwri 
lb«'had^y*«'atL dfchyrfg aA*ibtyik ludh^rt? thifi'may 
behbM'^^^doxiteal, fbrl^ iiyeliovediilo^eir-is al'^si 
(jftlfed'^Mp^y, iBCrlid^feppiilesSa^ <jbtieidbi?Qd'a»' ii^'W^llq 
fl€»hed indiflfen^aoe^etMtroW iutmcle 'it* i But human> 
isiperi^llc^ ifi i^BEitallf > parddosic41^ if i tibat ' 'ineaniB : m-' 
^]g^(jtl8 witb'tlLe')phH8eS'of currenfe talk or'teven 
GCift)eni' ptalosophyv' It- wa«' rio'triason tb; Mitah^. 
b«i}5 a pai^ of that? fall natnre whachl inadeMs love' 
fcr /heri the-' ittbr© wcwrfchy^f *tHiat hiB. joy < iiaiibpyrrieoiilid 
hold by* itb siAef • lth«t ioate -for ' lahbtH^^ ^m Mrnid is 
}m^ itddifc^ f4K(r<theione''We ioi^e' best?-^ajDiie9£bMiiD^. 



,«>6 DANIBL : DER0ND4. . 

of immeasurably c&re9^ which yet %^e better than any 
joys outside our love. / 

Derpnda came twice to Diplow, ^d .«aw Gwen- 
dolen twice — and yet h^ we^t back to town without 
having told her anything about the change in his 
lot and prospects. He blamed himself; but in all 
momentoufi com^^nication likely to [give pain we 
feel dependent on some preparatory turn of wozds or 
associations, some . agj^^em^nt pf . th^ other's mood 
with the probable effects of wh^t we hfive,;ko impart. 
In the first interview Gwendolen wap so absorbed 
in what she; had t6 say tq Inm, so full pf questions 
which he must anawer, abofut.tth^e asxangement of 
her Ufe, wha«ti &he eould dp tp- malke herself ie^ 
igjiorant, how she could hjd toadest to everybody, 
and make amends for hepr, selQshn^sis Bfxd try to be 
rid of it, that Deronda utterly shrank from waiving 
her immediate wants in order to speak of himself, 
nay) fix)m inflicting a wotind en her in these moments 
when she waa leaning pn him for help i^ her path. 
In the second interview, .whpp. he went, r with new 
resolve to commiand the p(^nvers9;tipn iuito some pre- 
paratory track, he found t^^r .il> A state of d^ep de- 
pression, overmastered by, tho^e jdiistasteful miserable 
memories which forced themseli^es on het* as some- 
thing more real and ample ifiaik any new.mateiml 
out of which she could mould her future. She cried 
hysterically, and idaid that he would alWaj?^ despise 
her. He i3ould only «eek words, of soothing aaad 
enicoura^eiment; and when she ,gradu0.Uy. revived 
under thsni, with that pathetic leK)k of . renetvied 
childlike '4n!tereBt which ilvre aee^ in eyes, ^ere l^e 



BOOK VIIL FRUIT AND SEED. 607 

lashes are still beaded with fears, it was impossible 
to lay another burthen on her. i 

But time went on, and he felt it a pressing duty 
to make the difficult disclosure. Gwendolen, it was 
true, never recognised his having any afiairs ; and 
it had never even occurred to her to ask him why he 
happened to be at Genoa. But this unconsciousness 
of hers would make a sudden revelation of affeiirs 
that were determining his course in life all the 
heavier blow to her ; and if he left the revelation to 
be made by indifferent persons, she would feel that 
he had treated her with oruel inoonsiderateness. 
He could not make the communication in writing : 
his tenderness could not bear to think of her reading 
his virtual farewell in solitude, and perhaps feeling 
his words full of a hard gladness for himself and 
indifference for her. He went down to Diplow 
again, feeling that every other peril was to be in- 
ciirred rather than that of returning and leaving her 
still in ignorance. 

On this third visit Deronda found Hans Meyridk 
installed with his easel at Diplow, beginning his 
picture of the three diaughters sitting on a bank "in 
the Gainsborough style," and varying his work by 
rambling to Pennioote to sketch the village children 
and improve his axjquaintance with the Gascoignes* 
Hans appeared to have recovered his vivacity, but 
Deronda detected some feigning in it, as we detect 
the artificiality of a lady'ss bloom, from its being a 
little too high-toned and steadily persistent (a " Fluc- 
tuating Eouge " not having yet appeared among the 
advertisements). Also, with all his grateful firiend- 



608 DANIEL DERONDA. 

ship and admiration for Beronda, Hans could not 
help a certain irritation against' him such as ex- 
ttemely incautious, open natures are apt to feel 
when the breaking of a friend's reserve discloses a 
state of things not merely unsuspected but the 
reverse of what had been hoped and ingeniously 
conjectured. It is true that poor Hans had always 
cared chiefly to confide in Derofada, and had been 
quite incurious as to any confidence that might have 
been given in return ; but what outpourer of his ow^n 
affairs is not tempted to think any hint of his fi^end's 
affairs as an egoistic irrelevance? That wafe no 
reason why it was not rathfer a sore reflection to 
Hans that while he had been all along naively open- 
ing his heart about Mirah, Deronda. had kept secret 
a feeling of rivalry which now revealed, itself as the 
important determining fact. Moreover, it is always 
at their peril that our friends turn out to be some- 
thing more than we were award of. Hans must be 
excused for these promptings of bruised sensibility, 
i^ince he had not allowed them to govern his sub- 
stantial conduct : he had the consciousness of having 
done right by his fortunate friend; or, as he told 
himself, "hite metal had -given a better ring than he 
would have sworn to beforehand." For Hans had 
always said that in point of virtue he was a dilet- 
tante : which meant that he was very fond of it in 
other people, but if he meddled with it himself he 
cut a poor figure. Perhaps in reward of his good 
behaviour he gave his tongue the more fi-eedom ; 
and he was too fully possessed by the notion of 
Deronda'fi happiness to have a conception of what 



BOOR VIII.— FRUIT AND SEED. 609 

he was feeling about Ghvendolen, so that he spoke* 
of her without hesitation. 

" When did you come down, Hans ? " said Deronda, 
joining him in the grounds wh^re he 'Was making 
a study of the requisite bank and trees. 

"Oh, ten days ago — before the time Sir Hugo 
fixed; I ran down with Rex Gascoigne and stayed 
at the Rectory a day or two* I'm up in all the 
gossip of these parts — I know the state of the 
wheelwright's interior, atid have assisted • at arl 
infant school examination. Sister Anna with the 
good upper lip escorted me, elsie I should havfe been 
mobbed by three urchins a<nd an idiot, because of my 
long hair and a general appearaiice which departs 
from the Pennioote type? of the beautifdl. Altogether, 
the village is idyllia Its ottlyfault is a dark curate 
with broad shoulders and bifoad trouseiis who ou^ht 
to have gone into the heavy drapery line. The 
Gascoignes are perfect — ^besides being related to the 
Vandyke xJuohefes, I caught a glimpse of her in her 
black robeis at ^ distance, though she doesn't show 
to visitors^" 

<^8he was not staying at the Rectory?" said 
Deronda. • 

" No ; but I was taken to Oflfendene to see the old 
house^ and as a consequence I saw the duchess's 
family. I suppose you have been there and know 
all about them?" ' 

" Yes, I have 'been there," said Deronda^ quietly. 

"A fine old place. An excellent setting for a 
widow with romantic fortunes. And she seems to 
have had several romances. I think I have found 



610 DANIEL DERONDA. 

out that there was one between her and my friend 
Rex." 

"Not long before her marriage, then?" said Der- 
onda, really interested; "for they bad only been a 
year at Offendene How oaawe you to know any- 
thing of it ? " 

" Oh — ^not ignorant of what it is to be a miserable 
devil, I learn to gloat, on the signs of misery in 
others. I found out that Rex never goe6 to Ofifen- 
dene, and has never seen the. duchess since she 
oamebaok; and Miss Gascoigne let fall something 
in our talk about charade-acting--Tfor I went through 
some of my nonsense to please the young ones — 
something which proved to me that Rex was once 
hovering about his fair cousin close enough to get 
singed* I don^t know what was her part in the 
affair. Perhaps the duke came in and carried her 
off. That is always the way when an exceptionally 
worthy young man forms an attachment. I under- 
stand now why Gascoigne talks of making the 
law his mistress and' remaining a bachelor. But 
these are green resolves. Since the duke did 
not get himself drowned for your sake, it . may 
turn out to be for my friend Rex's sake. Who 
knows?" 

"Is it absolutely necessary that Mrs Grandcourt 
should marry again?" said Deroada, ready to add 
that Hans's success in constructing her fartun.es 
hitherto had not been enough to ^varrant a new 
attempt. 

" You monster ! " retorted Hans, " do you want 
her to wear weeds. for you all her life — bum her- 



BOOK vm. — ]#Ririir 'AND seed. 611 

self in perpetual suttee #hilie you are alive and 
merry?" ■: • '^ "• ' •. ■ ^ ..• 

Deronda could say'iiotMiig, but he looked s6 much 
annoyed that Hans turbed the current of his chat, 
and when he was albne shrugged his shouldei's a 
little over the* thbuglht that there really had been 
some stronger feeling between Beronda and the 
dttchess than Mirah would like to knbW of. " Why 
dM^'t she fall '^iil' love with' me?'* thought Haiis, 
latching at himself "She would have tad no 
rivals. No WorAjln ev^r wanted to discuss theology 
with me." • < * • ^ 

No wonder that Deronda winced under that" sort 
<^ jokilig vnth a ' whip-l^h. It touched serisibilities 
that w'ere already quivering with the anticipatidh of 
witnfes6irig soinebf that pain to which even HaJ4s*s 
light woirds sfeeined to ^ give more' reality— ^alny sort 
of recogtii'tion'by another giving emphasis to the 
subject of our aft±iety.' A^d now he had come doVn 
with the'fiini resblVie that' he would not again^ eVtide 
the trial. ' The tiext day' he rode to Ofifendene. He' 
had sent wotd'that he inteiided to call and to 'ask 
if Gwendolen" could receive; him ; and he found he* 
awaiting hitn in the old drawing-room where some 
chief Arises of her Kfife had' happened. She seemed 
kss sad than he had seen hei* 'since her hitfeband'^' 
death ;• there was no stnile on her face, but a placid 
self-possession, in contrast with the mood in which 
he had lastfotind'herj She was all the more alive 
to the sadness 'perceptible 'in Deronda ; and they' 
were no sooner seratbd^— he 'at a little distanc^^ op- 
posite to hfe!r^— thto die said': ' " ' "* 



612. ju.' S^I% fl^RQNj^iV Ann'i 

|.,/,^ Yonrwe^Q ,aft^ ./pf f^B^i^gf^o[j§pj»,.pjLe,, bepaffse 
I was so full of grief and despair the last time. , ;$^t 
I . W W\' SQ,tio4^y, .; H^Ye^ti^M ^m^ ^?:^. since. 
I J^^ye tie^ft W^^iftg i^.i^\V^m9V^ Y{hJ]I^^h9^\d ke^p 
up mj l^pp^ 9,^d ;i?^ a^?, 9ft^eefif^):^as,^,,ca,ft, ^carUSj^.J 
Tvo.i^}dtp9!t give you. wyjpaiiij^Q^tiin©,;ft , ,,. j, 
. , , iTbere wa(B ^ .Tifi\Ypp,tj9(fl ,^^(^J?pL^^p ip^Gr^sj^^^do^^'s 
tp^/ and- ^opb, as,,.s^|:!TiJ^pVjJ <tk^f^ uW^^ *h^ 
s^^ji^^djto j;i^Tonda,|^9. ij;ify^ %fiit;ffiop^^!cmeltyiji[i,^o 
^t^p f:^s^ nQ\^ 1^^ ,\^poi^:;^Lim. .^Piulij^ ^It^^liliged 
tp .,^9.^^ hi^. ^j^ftv^^rr^a,^^^^ij4i^,,p^j,%^ ,^ask, ; .,- : 
"I am in some trouble to-day," he said'^ 4flpWft& 
^< feeif r^^her .mpii^^^Uj rfn^^i i^ mP^mi^9'fJ- ctv*^'© 
tlwgpfqtell ypi^,>yhiq!h j^^^.^lipa(^p,p\^f,\t-^ 

~^Pt^^i,ti9-.Hy^.,mm d^iW aiv,fj/?lfcp^ij9>y^^ts that 

been tqgeit}f^if^e^aY,^.Mf4tyi;hafi'.ti^^^ eq^into 
s|al^-e^9fs[^}xiQi^,^t.1^^^^^^nt ,>^i]^.,ff ^j^yje^ pipes- 
^^g J .to,,?iae. thau,, tl^e ;^1[ri9.}f^.;)^9i^,f J^yoif l^^ji,. going 
tiffi9^gli-';..i . TheT^.w^^,a,^9rt^!9;f .twifli t^n^erj^^sp ^^ 
]f)e^pn4^,'^^deep ,tc)Wtf rja^fdj-, })^f ^R^ae,c?| ^i,t^ .:» c.ple^^r 
ipg^.^ferif-a. if ijbJ^JI^ .f)epn ^^qrwi^^leff qftljiT^fbo. li^d 
cqi^f^i^ed .^ythTOri^: ^-^P^^eftif fL^^s^ecJ^ing^i^fJ 

. i^.tl^U.ofjr^iTOme,/^^^ vi#J«.,i^.:^^^^^ r,^i[iofi' 
i4j^^niifg,^s.f](i,e.fo.i^id ip l}ffif:Tj^p;r^,ha4 ^^e^ rher, 
bjL^jCj \srithauti. ,c9^:usipg, f?ai:,.{ . I^pr»,;^i;n(J , h^4 fe^^fl^. ** 
once to some change j^iMs ^H^sii^j^^ 3Sfi|tj;i[r^a^d; ta 



BOOK .Vm--r^?'WEIl , ANP SEED. 613 

/ 

Sir Hugo ffld Sjr.; JJugo'a rgypj^rty, Sbj^, md, with 

A^epfiie of;coj?af9pt %9im,.I)^op,d^'« j^ri^yipf asking her 

Ppr49^-r..: i : /Ih. .)»• :■! I , .'i .:■/:'• . 
, " ^pn^ neye^^ t^p^ght of ai^yl^ting, |})ut what you 
qujfJfJL,^^p, to l^fiJj).,mf.j'a^d I.-i^'as ^ trouble^^gm^. 
How,^<^uldijjpu t.^ flae.ijIfhii^gQ?';, ./ -...,.. 
• , 'S ^^>iW^l',lR^^i\'^W »§ttQniph , i jou," , sftid , .Derotida, 
*f t^Jfaf I,Ji^,vi^i.only,quit^ lately kno]rt^i]t,,wltf> iwere my 
parents.",* , .,^ , ., , .-.^ -: , . ,,:j... ■. ■: • ^ , - . 
Gw^dflJpik^TKjasiflOit ^t»iii^i»^d,t ^J>e rfeit the oaore 
^uj;fiji jd^.he?: ^j^^pej^^tiq^^ .of.ijjihat wfts cp«aiiig 
wererT^gji^r :.r|erq^^^,wpJrt ^ witfepu,t. check., . ; 

I had gone there to learn that — in fact, to meet.,n]f)ir 
motjh^r,:, fIt..T^^%jby;ibQr wjeh ,tbat,-{..W(?k»-.brou^Jlt up 
in,igno^^iiif;e ojP ;jijjf) jp^reftta,gej ;..gl|ei'paited. with^mQ 
^fter,i|^y'^^th^V,<i^litii,;:^hen J; ^a?5)ai4iWl«t qreatm-^^ 
But sh«. ji^^{i^p;wf >^ery ijljj^afl^fji^jfejil} ;that tl?^-,.se<arec^ 

]f?^on tiafl, Ij^en tb# 4^ dirf ,ty)t -^jshi pi^ i!tp. kjiow 
I was a Jew.'* "'.j-v"."! , ■ :i : 

/Jj^ /^w;/.''- .^\^pdolei^r^^fdai?4l^d„ii»/a Ipw tone 
pi j^mAZQ^^puiy^Y^h m u^^^^ J^fi(ti^ted. look^ as if 
soipae ,9^fusdpgj,.ppti9i|,;W-i^e' cr^^jp^i^g ^ through her 
syst^ni.i ••..,. ;., . , , ,/ -ii Jm .., •/': ■',: .. ., i 
..^^irondfi ftolp.^^ed' an4 di|l,j^ot[9peftky:;while.Gwenn 
dolenj .with.fhQr ejr^^ fis:ei..otj,tbe;fl<pprj i^s 8triiig4 
g^jjjgi tp. f\^d^ l^ei; wfty; ijn ,th«i-dwk. W^^ *he aid.. of 
yari9us,r^pii;t^i^penc;eef{) Sl.ii^ i,#Qai«Qdi ati l^st to haver 
^rivf^^.^-t^qpij^f^jju^g^i^nj;, forrftHhi^k^ up'at Ddj?/ 
Ofi^^^'M^^^il^i^mAj sis}i£;^p»Q^ptmfi4g>Ngmnst th^ 



614 DANIEL DfeRONI)A^ 

\ 

" What difference iieed that have maicte?" 

" It has made i^ gi^at difference to tn6 that T have 
known it," said Deronda, emphatically ; but he cotild 
not go on easily — ^thef distance' between hel- ideas and 
his acted like a difference of native language, tn^^ng' 
him uncertain what- force his iilrctt'ds would can^.' ' ' 

Gwendolen • meditated again, and then said ' feel- 
ingly, '^ I hope) there is nothing to make yoA mind. 
You are just the same as if you were not a Jew." 

She meant to iasfiure him that nothing 'of that 
©xtetnal sort could afifect thfe'way in'wMch 'i^he re- 
garded him, o^!'the ^Ay ik'Whieh'he could influence 
heit4 -Deronda wa&'a little heljied^ by^Ms 'infsunder- 
tftanding. • ■■'-'•^ '■• ' ■' •• • ^'' "-'^^'^ '^'^ ■ 

"The discovery was' "fer ^m. being ^painfdl to 
me," he said. l^Lhad be^n gr6.diialiy prtJpared for 
it, and I' wad glad of it I had be6rit prepared for it 
by becoming iritimatfe' with a very remarfrable Jew, 
whose id^as -have atferttcted rh^ so mueh'that'I thirtk 
of devoting the best part of liy life t6 gfdmd-^jSbrt at 
giving them effect." 

Again G\Vlflndol6h seemed' shaken — ?igaih there 
was a look' of ' Irustrateonj but^^his' time 'it was 
mingled' wiHh alkrm. Sh^'looked at Deronda with 
lips childishly parted. It was not that she h^d yet 
connected his wotds ^ih Mirah and' her btother, 
but that they had inspired her with a dreadful' pre- 
sentiment of ^oiifttoinouB tteviirfor her mind before 
it could reaich fieron(fe*fl. Great iderf6' in general 
which shjd' imd' »itril>ut^ to'him si^^rttOd to make no 
great prafS!lical<iiffertnce,'%i,ndwei:i6^-iiolfc fbrmidable in 
the same way as these mysteriously-sliadOwed 'par^ 



BOOK Vra. — FKXJIT AN1> SEED. 61 S 

tidular ideas. He could not quite dirine what was 
going on Within her ) he could only steek the l^ast 
al»upt path of disclosure. 

"That is an object," W said, aft6fr' a' moment, 
" whibh 'will by-and-by force me to leave England 
for some time — 'for some years. I have purposes 
^loh will take me to the Ea&t."- 

Here was something clearer, but all the more 
immediately agitating. Gweiidolen'fe lip began to 
tremble. "But you will c6me back?*' she said, 
tasting her own tears as they fell, ' before she 
thought of drying them. 

i)etonda could not sit still, fee rose, and went 
to prop himself agaiist th^ c6i*ner of the mantefl- 
piece, fit a dflfdrent anglfe from her fkce: Bii^ 
When ^he had pressed her handkerchief dgdinst her" 
cheeks, gihe -turned and looked' Up at him, await- 
ing an answer. ' 

"If I live," said Deronda^-"'iomc time.'" 

They were both silent. He coild not' persuade 
himself to say more unless she led tip to it by a 
question ; and 6he was apparently nieditating some- 
thing that ^he had to say. ' " " ' 

•^'What are you going to do?" she asked, at last, 
very timidly. " Can I understand the ideas, or a'lri' 
I too ignorant?" " ' '' . ' ' 

"I am going to the Eafet 16 become better a'c-^ 
quainted with the condition of my race in various 
countries there," said Del*ondaJ gently-^ariiious to 
be as explahatbl-y as he ^could bn What was the I'm-' 
personal part bft^lieir sepkratenei&s ft'om each other. 
"The id^a that'll am possessi^a witti ik'thaibf re^" 



stqf ing : a political ej^Jst^jice ' to .my . peoplcf, . making 
th^ a, aatioi^. ag?^i^,ig;i7^lg them a. ^ati^pal centfra, 
such as the English have, though ijhqy too arf^ SfG^eUb- 
te(i?e(;l, q]^ei;.the. fac^ ;of tbe globe,, fjliat. is; a'task 
yf)^ch fre^^ptB , itself to .me, as a duty;: /I jfimj.jire- 
golved to b/^in it, hQweveij/j^eyy. l^.^m jj^olved 
to devote my life to it . A|i jtbe least, I may/awajc^ 
a n^ove^eiit iii other minds,: suob.^ai^ jbas been 
awakened jxi my. QW.x\^'[ 

. Thei;e was a long #ilepp^ betjveen ; them. The 
w:orld seemed getting larger rotmd,popr G.wencjolen, 
and she more solitary and. helpless in tho naidftt. 
T^ip,. thought tl^at l[ie ifiJgliticojAe Ipaok jafteffogoiiig 
to, the ;East, Rank,.b)^§)r€}i|th^ ,lpieYi?ilderi]|[^g ivjip^n oi 
th,^pe wid^-stri^tcljxing p.w:posefi^, i^;vwbi(?)i ;^he felt, 
beipelf J ; ipeduee^; ;^q a iw^rje ipppck, , ; ,Ther^ pOipaes a 
terribjle , moment ., to n^any ;So,ulq{,.,wJtijen iflje , gi^eat. 
movements of the world, the larger d^/sftii^es of 
mankind, which h^ye lain^aloof .in;new&p^p^rs;and 
Qj^er . n^jglpcted • yqadi^j, enter like,, an., earthquake 
ipto ,thfir jO^ jliyei^lTr^hejn. the slo-^y ^ufge^cy pfj 
growing .genj^patiops tufft^, iixto, .tji^ fft'^ad of an 
invading army or the dire^ ^plasl^ fof ;ci,)4i war,, and 
gr^^ jfathers know nothing .to.sjeek .for , bill// the 
cqjrpStGs of they; r.bl|p.9mii}g].. sons, and girls, fp^get all 
vanity to make lint and bandages which m^^ serve 
fgrthe shattered. J-wJe of. *heir betrothed husbands. 
Tht^n.jt i^. ag, if th.e ^^^visi^ie Power tj^at has bee?x. 
the pbj^pt of lipj-:worsl^if),.a,n(i lip*^:.9si5j;iafifon bppaiw© 
visj^bl^, accprjdiiig ,1;9 (the,., imagery ^ 9f,,:th^.i Hefefe^ 
P.9^Ji,; WkiflS, ,|<l^p J^fpie^.f^is chai:}oJt, ; ^d.An4ipg .<». 
the ]v,ii^gSjOf %,,^^^, .till the, ipo^taij^eii smoke 



BOOK yjij^-rr^fR^iT ^?P seed. 617. 

and-{};fie.pl^$ shpdjij^/ under. tH^.^flllj^ig ^pi^ y^si- 
t^^oHf, rQ%o,thje,g9od.c&use«,aq;fiSjjfC( %{ppstri^1je! 
i;ui,<ier,.t^i^ thi^nd^iJ of, uar^|ep.tjng{(forc|^„H^e ni9,rty;r3 
livi© reY,i^ed^tU9^idif5, au4>;iiP'i^og€»l..jft.^^n holdj^pg 
for.^li .tjjie,c3rpwjci ;and;tb^: p?i% b^ancljU,, %h^Vi^ }t'.M 
that the 8ubmissioj;i^:of thp ^.puLjtp ^1;.}ie,. Highest j^ 
tested, and even in tibe ^^^f^ pf ficfypl^^^' jljfp.ljooks 
9«.t;,fi:qiyi'.ither,.9j:fep,e fjf.rhm?;ian ^ij|^ujgglQ_.;\jv;itbj jbhe 
a^^jf^^ ^f^pe|..fif.vdutj,..an4,/.^ ,,reH^^^ it^seli 

ti^^vl.iihir M.f = .••• •>••• :i -:. . :, .. A ...;./ f...,f • !. .. 
^; Tl^t y|r^,'tJ^e•^9^,Qf.pri^is,w)^9l^,w3.p,a^^.^ 

i?aenii fr^jginpji^ ,in ,Clwen,dolen's| sjij^y -^^i^fq :||^h.^j\ya« 
for the first time feehng the pressure of a y^pj: ;.njiys-j 
teriqy^f^mpy^^j^tjofpr %. fifst tii?Qq,bp:^grili4odged 
fropf^ l^^,^ii|xi^;i;^acy ij?..,lfer pwm wq^^d, apcl,.gettingaj 
If qnse^, .t^at^ '^\ horifgpn .^vas but; a, jlippii^g, cm ward ojf 
^n exi^jj^fjjfe with^.-jvliipl^ h^r own was .p^yolving^ ^ 
th^ tr^ifj^ie^ of Ip^^r,. wifjBhood ^^nd, wieif)^hopd ha^ 
sl^ill left l^er j jvjsrith the> ij^ipljpit impre^p^n whiclji h^d 
accompanied her from childhood, tli,at wlip^tever pui;- 
rQif|f(^€^(Jf her,.wa^';Sow:^ehp,w[ apecialliy for her, and it 
wep b^qaif^erof tjtus jtha^t no personal jealousy had 
beeij, roj^ed in liej:..in pe^^tipn to pero;:^^^, ; she ppijild 
iftpt.^pQPjt^eousljj^ think of, hinfi as rightf||llj jl^elong- 
ing to othej^jpaorie tJ^ai?L,1:o l;iar. ,Bi;t. herQ.hjQ,d .9Pme 
a ;sh9cbj\^|^p|i w^plj. deeper, than per^(>nal jpaiousy — 
^•'^ffi^^ftSt, .§Wtu9{i,. and,, j^guely t^eii^endp^^ tjiat 
thmijslj ^herf j^^jajr^ . ^.i^d^ yeil^^cjuelled all ^ji^ger jnt9| -^elfj 
km^il^io^:,^^..,^ " J: .i;[v/ ..'■■: .1 ..^.f •>. k, . 

Th^e ha.(Jj!^bj^en- a^ }p][\g ., silence. • jDerondia had 
stpod^^tiJtl, even th^^nVlil foi? W ii^jjeryal^bpfore lie 



618 " ' UAOTEL bERONUA. 

needed to sky triorei, and Gwendolen haid sat like a 
statue WitK' her mists lying over each other and 
her eyes fixed — tlie inteiisity of her mental action 
arresting all other excitation: At length something' 
occurred tb her that made her turn her face to Der- 
onda and say in a tremblihg voice — • '' - 

"Is thataUyoTicantell'ine?" ' 

The'qiiestion Was like a da'rt to him;' "The Jew 
whom J mentioiied justnoW,^*"he k-nswetfed, not With- 
out a ceirtairi tremor in his t6nes too, "^th^'^elnark- 
able man who has greatly influenced my mind, -has 
not jierliapfe been totally Unheard of bj^you^ He is 
the brother of Migs Lapidoth, whom you hive often 
heaW kiiig.**" ^''''' "' '' ' " •'-'-'■■'■ '-» 

A great wave of reirieiiibrance passed through 
Gwendolen aiid fepf ead as 4 deep, painfril ' flush 6ver 
face and neck. ' It had come" first as ttief'sbehe df 
that morning when she had called ' on Mi*:^h, and 
heard Berbiida'fe voice reading, and been told, with- 
out then heading it, that he wad rea^ding' Hebrew 
with Mirah's brother. i ■ ■ 

' "He is very ill — very near death now," Derohd^ 

went on, iervoufely, and then stopped short. He 

felt that he tn'tist wait. Wbtild she divine the rest? 

^''^DiA she tell yon that T went to her?" said 

GWendbT6n, abniptly, Idbkitig up at him. 

*^No,'* said D^eronda. "I don't!' Understand yoU." 

Shei tui-riedf^aWay her eyes again, and Sat thinking. 
Slowly the col6ur died out of fa6e and'neiok, and she 
was as pale as before — with that almost withered 
paleness which is seen afte'r ia painful flAsh. 'At last 
she said',' without ' turning towards him— ^iU a low, 



BOOK VIII. ^FJRUIT AND SEED. 619 

measured voice, as if she .were only thijaking aloud 
in preparation for future speech — 

" But can you marry ? " 

" Yes," said X)ei;onda,.also in a low voice. " I am 
going to marry." 

At first there was no change m. Gwendolen's 
attitude : she only began to tremble visibly ; then 
sh.e looked before her with dilated eyes, as at 
something lying in front of her, till she stretched 
her arms out straight, and cried with a smothered 
voice — 

" I said I should be forsaken- I have been a Cruel 
woman. And I am forsaken." 

Deronda's anguish was intolerable. He could not 
helj) himselfl He seized her outstretched hands and 
held them together, and kneeled at her* feet. She 
was the victim of his happiness. * 

" I am cruel too, I am cruel," he repeated, with a' 
sort of groan, looking up at her imploringly. 

His presence and touch seemed to dispel a horrible 
vision, and she met his upward look of sorrow with 
something like the return of consciousness after 
fainting. Then she dwelt on it with that growing 
pathetic movement of the brow which accompanies 
the revival of some tender recollection. The loqk 
of sorrow brought back what seemed a very far-off 
moment — the first time she had • ever seen it, in 
the library at the Abbey. Sobs rose, and great 
tears fell fast. Deronda would not let her hands 
go — held th^n still with one of his, . and himself 
pressed her handkerchief against her eyes. She sub- 
mitted like a> half-soothed' child, making, an effort to 



620 DANIEL DERONDA. 

fipeak, which was hindered by struggling sobsw At 
last she succeeded in saying brokenly — 

" I said ... I said ... it should be better . . . 
better with me * . . for having known you." 

His eyes too were larger with tears. . She ynrested 
one of her hands from his, and tetumed his action, 
pressing his tears away. 

" We shall not be quite parted," he said, " I will 
write to you always, when I can, and you will 
answer ? " 

He waited till she said in a whisper, " I will try." 

"I shall be more with you than I used to be," 
Deronda said with gentle urgency, releasing her 
hands and rising from his kneeling posture. " K we 
had been much together before, we should have felt 
our diiferences'more, and seemed to get ferther apart. 
Now we can perhaps never see each other again. 
But bur minds may get nearer." 

Gwendolen said nothing, but rose too, automati- 
cally. Her withered look of grief, such as the sun 
often shines on when the blinds are drawn up after 
the burial of life's joj^, made him hate his own words : 
they seemed to have the hardness of easy consolation 
in them. She felt that he was goin-g, and that noth- 
ing could hinder it. The sense of it was like a dread- 
fid whisper in her ear, which dulled all other conscious- 
ness ; and she had not known that she was rising. 

. Deronda could not speak again. He thought that 
tbey must part in silence, but it was difficult to move 
towards the parting, till she looked at him with a 
sort of intention in her eyes, which helped him. He 
advanced to put out Ida hand silently, and when she 



BOOK VIII. FRUJT AND SEED. 621 

had placed hers within it, she said what her mind 
had been labouring with — 

"You have been very good to me. I have de- 
served nothing. I will try — try to live. I shall 
think of you. What good have I been? Only 
harm. Don't let me be harm to you. It shall be 
the better for me " 

She could not' finish. It, was not that she was 
sobbing, but that the intense effort with which she 
spoke made her too tremulous. The burthen of 
that difficult rectitude towards him was a weight 
her frame tottered under. 

She bent forward to kiss his cheek, and he kissed 
hers. Then they looked at each other for an instant 
with clasped hands, and he turned away. 

When he was quite , gone, her mother came, in 
and found her sitting motionless. 

" Gwendolen, dearest, you look very ill," ^he said, 
bending- over her and touching her cqld hands. 

" Yes, mamma. But don't be afraid. I am going 
to live," said Gwendolen, bursting out hysterically. 

Her mother persuaded her to go. to bed, and 
watched by her. Through the day and half the 
night she fell continually into fits of shrieking, but 
cried in the midst of them to her mother, " Don't 
be afraid. I shall Uve. I mean to live." 

After all, she slept ; and when she waked in the 
morning light, she looked up fixedly at her mother 
and said tenderly, " Ah, poor mamma ! You have 
been , sitting up with me. Don't be unhappy. I 
shall live. I shall be better." 



622 



CHAPTER LXX. 



In the chequered are^ of human experience the seasons are all mingled 
as in the golden age : fruit Knd blossom hang together ; in the same 
moment the sickle is reaping and the seed is sprinkled ; one tends the 
green cluster and another treads the wine-press. Nay, in each of onr lives 
harvest and spring-time are continually one, until Death himself gathers 
us and sows us anew in his invisible fields. 



Among the blessings of love thiere is hardly one 
more exquisite than the sense that in uniting the 
beloved life to ours we c^n watch over its happi- 
ness, bring comfort where hardship was, and over 
memories of privation and suffering open the sweet- 
est fountains of joy. -Dercmdia's love for Mirah was 
strongly imbued with that blessed protectiveness. 
Even with infantine feet she had begun to tread 
among thorns ; and the first time he hd,d beheld 
her face it had seemed to him the girlish image of 
diBspair. 

But now she was glowing like a dark-tipped yet 
delicate ivory -tinted flower in the wann sunlight 
of content, thinking of any possible grief as part 
of that life with Deronda which she could call by 
no other name than good. And he watched the 
sober gladness which gave new beauty to her move- 
ments and her habitual attitudes of repose, with a 



BOOK Vm. FI^UIT AKD SEED. 623 

delight which made him, say to himself that it wa* 
^noftgh of personal joy for him t<^ pate her from 
pain. She knew nothing of Hantfs struggle qr of 
Gwendolen's pang ; for after the assuraj:io^ that 
Peronda's hidden lover. 3^adJ)©en. for her, she , easily 
explained Gwei^dol^n's eageu eK^W^itnde abomt him 
as part of a gmtejhl dependence on? this goodnassj 
^uch as pbe h^rs^f haid known. . And' all D,eronda's 
words about Mrs. Qrandcourt cgnfixm^d-ithat yiew 
of t^neir- yelaticoi, though he p^ve^r touobed- QU it 
6x,qept in the most ^distant manner. . . Mirah wad 
ready to beHeye thsit he had be^n a-, rescuing 9'ngel 
to many besides t^rself. The Qnjy winder, was, 
that she amoi^g th^m all was to h^v0 the bliss of 
being continually rby his. side. - ' , 
: So, when the. bridal veil was aroijind Jiii^h- it hid 
no 1 doubtful tremors-^ only a. thrill, of , ft w/^ at the. 
acceptance of a great) ^ft which reqwed^eat uses* 
And the velvet Qanop(y:.Beiver coveped.a mone goodly 
bifide. and brjdBgropm, to whom th^ people might 
Ddore wisely wish offspring ; more truthfi^l.lips never 
tOtUched the :sacraTn©iital marriage -wine ; the mar-i 
riage-blessi^ig never gathered ^trpnger^ prosjais© of 
fdffilment tlian in the integrity of their mutual 
pledge. Naturally, they were married ' according 
to the Jewish rite.. : And,, sinc0 no religion seems 
yet to have deuianded that when we i^ke a ffea^t 
we should invite only the highest x&^k ,of our acn 
quaintanoes, few, it is to be » hoped, \qiU he offended 
to leiaarn that; among the guests at Dero^da's little, 
wedding-feast iwas the entir© CJqhen , family, witb 
ft^ one e^oflption of; iblip baby wb^:iQarriM!<*a her 



Q24 '' ' SPANIEL DERON'DA'. - '' 

t^^thlh^ lAteilrg'ently' at home. HbW bould "M'or-' 
dfecai have bbtnia thttt those 'firiebde t)f ''hi»'ad4^ii*ity 
fehotild'have beien stHit out from f^jdicin^ in cidMi 
mm with-:hhnV "•' ••••'' • -' "''^ -■ •!• ;■»!' '"'•> 
^JfMjTfi iftey^ok w*) Mly ttiidet^todd^ this'tlidft' bHi 
h«d qilnte r6«6oiiciIlfA' hetself to' iii€le«itig* Ihfe ' J^wisli 
pa-wnfcroker, aAd? Wafe there with het threfe IdftUgh^ 
te^s^i-aM *:oP tiem- enjoy in^ ^he (JoiifecioiiBiifes^r *that 
MrfaCh's siAarrittg^' to Deronda ctowned a 'ix)iiiancfe 
whteh ^oiild alvv^ays make a s-^i^et ifi^mcii^f ftl them. 
For whiofe'- of- them; mother 'or^ gi^ls; had not, had 
i ge«ie?eOii(§f> part ih' it—^givitlg their best tn!' feeling 
and in abt'tb/ her who needed? • If Haiie coilldhfeve 
beeti tlieti^,' it Wotild have''=bee*il'be*t^r ; btit Mat 
had already observed that meb trlufirt 'suflet^ ibi- bfeinj^ 
so incohveriientf: ritippose ' she, Katie,' and Aiiiiy' had 
all' fallen^ in 'We with M'r Deronda?— but being* 
women- tbej^'w^re not so Wdidnldus;' ' ' '" "• 

The MeyriiJks Were rewfttded fol* i^ohqtieririg theii* 
prejudices'by he&ritig a' speech j&oiii' Mr Coiiiii, 
which had the rare quality' among spSedies of not 
being jqMte' after the usual' patt^^hi. - Jacob ate be-^ 
yond iris . years ; ■ -and conttibiited' several' small 
whinnying laughs as a fbee ^ccomjianiment of* ' Ikid 
father's speiech,' nttt iJreVetently, but' 'from a- lively 
sense Uhat 'tis 'ftlmily' wks ' distinguishing- itself; 
WhiTe Adelaide Rebekah; in a' neJW Sabbftth frock, 
miaintainfed throughout a gravtJ'atr of responsibility. 

'Mordecaf 8 brilliant eyis, sunken in theif ^ large 
sd6kttB,f^'dWelt ' on the s<5eiale' with th^ 'cheriiefhing 
benignstn^y of. a spirit alread^f lifted into an aloof- 
ness • which- fiullifl^ oiftly selfish requirements - attid 



BOOK Vin. — -FltUIT ANb SEED. ,6IS5^ 

Ifeft -sytopaifhy alive.' Biirt ' d6ntlndal!y; after lii^ 
gaze had been 'tiiavelling rolliid bn the otherlb, i^ 
ri^turiied tt> dwell on Derbnda ^^itti' a^ ' fresh gleam 
df tru6'eirig' d,ffeoti6n. • it •>'. ,: . 

'The "wedding- f<^ast was hfiiinblej biit Mtrah was 
not with6tlt' -splendid; wedding -gift's.' As soon a^ 
the 'bel4i?r6tha?l had bee?n known, tWiei vv^ere tri^nd^ 
who h^ ' ehl^rtaifi^ gracfefiil deuces. ■ Sii'' tlugo 
and Lady Mallinger had takem l^fcratlle to pl'ovide' 
d> complete equipitient for' Eastern travel, as Iveli as 
a preclotiS' lockeH oonti-ining ati'4nScrijition-^" TO 
the bride of our dear l^aniel Der^Orida dtl hlessirigs-J—^ 
H/y^ LAm:' '[ Thie Kleismers sent ^ajierifect watch, 
aJsO^'Witha'prettyinscriptidri. '*'■'"'' ^'^ ' ^ 
•f'But something morte pfeciotls ■ than gold attd geniis 
came to B^ronda from- th^ neigHboui-hbod' of DiploW 
on ithfe momitig of hismari-iage.' •'It'^^^^s a' i^ttet 
conlJaiiiihg^'fehieSef words: — ' • i ; , ;' 

Do not think of me sorrowfuii^' ofi f/oUf^^ idedd^^- 
day. I ^ have reinembered ydttr wbrck-^tAat Itmiy live 
t6'b^^hniR6fi^ehesi of women, ijaho fkaicie othieth gJkd 
that- thej^' vmre^ hoihn, I do nek kfet-^ee 'k&io that cetfi 
hey hut you know better ihttn I.^- If '^^^v^t c&meis tr^^j 
it ■ 'wiil ^e h^mtke you helped we. I onl^ • 'tho^yht ' '0/ 
fwys^lf' and' I ikade you grieve: Itiui^ rry^ noiv^l^ 
thinB of y6\Jer "^^riefi Yok rrmt noi yVieve ahy more 
for^e. It is 'better--^ it shalth^ better ^Joit^i me because 
I have known you. ' 

: ' ' Gwfli^nbLfeN GriANttOdufti 

' M :• ... ■!<■ . , :- ".■ ..f :tr. ',■' ' i-;ji 

1 Th^ prepeiratio'as^ for. the dfep&tttir^ '(if aD'iJhi*^ 



626 . M . PfNIEI^ DBRONDA^ . 

to tlip East began , at oHjCp ; for Deronda pould not 
(pjenj Ezi:a*s lavish th^t I^^^J ^liopld set lOijt on the 
yajage foijfcliwith,; ^o- that he migiit go with liiem, 
instead of detaining them to watcl?<,over t^iija* He 
had no lielief, jbhat. Ezra's life would i ila^t /through 
the voyage,*^for ttprje yreresyiiaptoni^ which seemed 
to sliow that tJaQ }fist stage of his walajdy h^ set in. 
But Ezjav himself bad said, "Neiyer mind f where I 
die, so that I aw with. you," • ■ ' ; 

. Ife 4H moti.set out with' thew» One morning 
^ly.he said to Deronda,; *^Do not quit me to-day. 
I^^ali die beifore,. it is ended*" 

He cho^e to b^ dressed, and sit up in his easy- 
chair as usual, Deronda and Mirah on. each ^e^ of 
him, and fot some hours -he was unusvialjy^ silemt, 
not even making the effoj:t to Sipeabj but looking 
at tb^m ocoasiQnally with .pyes full of some restfol 
meaning, as if to assure thjem that whije-.this rem- 
nant of breathing-time was difficult, he felt an ocean 
of peace^ beneath him. \\ \ 

It was- not till late in the aftftemoonj-, when the 
ligiit waa falling, that h^ took a hand of each in his 
^ud sai.d,lQi<iiking'i^t D^rotida, "Death is coming to 
me as tjae ^ivin^ Akiss.vwlii^h is both.. parting and 
reunio»^:^>w^]bd^h takes m^e from your bqdily eyes and 
gives me . full pr^penpe in your souj* \ Wherd thou 
goest, paniel, I shall gisy^ Is it not begun? Have 
I ftot.brqath'^c} my 'Poul'into you? , We shall, Jive 
together." . .w . 

He-jPimped, apd Derondla waited, thinking that 
there might be another word for him. But slowly 
aftdi.with efort^nE^ra,. prestfjag dn .their ,b<|nds, raised 



BOOK VIII. FRUIT AND SEED. 62% 

himself and uttered in Hebrew the confession of 
the divine Unity, which for long generations has 
been on the lips of the dying Israelite. 

He sank back gently into his chair, and did not 
speak again. But it was some hours before he had 
ceased to breathe, with Mirahs and Deronda's arms 
around him. 

" Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail 
Or knock the breast ; no weakness, no contempt, 
Dispraise, or blame ; nothing but well and fair. 
And what may quiet us in a death so noble." 



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